[See  page  12 
THE      SKIPPER      TELLS      OF      "THE     GLORIOUS.     FASCINATING      SEA" 


THE  SKIPPER 
AND  THE  SKIPPED 


BEING     THE      SHORE      LOG 
OF    CAP'N    AARON    SPROUL 

BY 

HOLMAN    DAY 

AUTHOR  OF 
"THE  RAMRODDERS  " 
"  KING  SPRUCE"  ETC. 


NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

M  C  M  X  I 


BOOKS  BY 
HOLMAN     DAY 

THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED.     Post  8vo   .  $1.50 

THE  RAMRODDERS.     Post  8vo 1.50 

KING  SPRUCE.     Ill'd.     Post  8vo  ....  1.50 

THE  EAGLE'S  BADGE.     Ill'd.     Post  8vo.  1.25 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS,  N.  Y. 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  or  AMERICA 

PUBLISHED    FEBRUARY.    1911 


THE    SKIPPER    AND    THE    SKIPPED 


1523787 


THE    SKIPPER 
AND    THE    SKIPPED 


AP'N  AARON  SPROUL,  late  skipper  of  the 
Jefferson  P.  Benn,  sat  by  the  bedside  of  his 
uncle,  "One-arm"  Jerry,  and  gazed  into  the 
latter's  dimming  eyes. 

"It  ain't  bein'  a  crowned  head,  but  it's  hon- 
er'ble,"  pleaded  the  sick  man,  continuing  the  conversation. 
His  eager  gaze  found  only  gloominess  in  his  nephew's 
countenance. 

"One  way  you  look  at  it,  Uncle  Jed,"  said  the  Cap'n, 
"it's  a  come-down  swifter'n  a  slide  from  the  foretop  the 
whole  length  of  the  boomstay.  I've  been  master  since  I  was 
twenty-four,  and  I'm  goin'  onto  fifty-six  now.  I've  licked 
every  kind  in  the  sailorman  line,  from  a  nigger  up  to  Six- 
fingered  Jack  the  Portugee.  If  it  wa'n't  for — ow,  Josephus 
Henry! — for  this  rheumatiz,  I'd  be  aboard  the  Benn  this 
minute  with  a  marlinespike  in  my  hand,  and  op'nin'  a  fresh 
package  of  language." 

"But  you  ain't  fit  for  the  sea  no  longer,"  mumbled  One- 
arm  Jerry  through  one  corner  of  the  mouth  that  paralysis 
had  drawn  awry. 

i 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"That's  what  I  told  the  owners  of  the  Benn  when  I  fit 
'em  off'm  me  and  resigned,"  agreed  the  Cap'n.  "I  tell  ye, 
good  skippers  ain't  born  ev'ry  minute — and  they  knowed  it. 
I've  been  turnin'  'em  in  ten  per  cent,  on  her,  and  that's  good 
property.  I've  got  an  eighth  into  her  myself,  and  with  a 
man  as  good  as  I  am  to  run  her,  I  shouldn't  need  to  worry 
about  doin'  anything  else  all  my  life — me  a  single  man  with 
no  one  dependent.  I  reckon  I'll  sell.  Shipmasters  ain't 
what  they  used  to  be." 

"  Better  leave  it  where  it  is,"  counselled  Jerry,  his  cautious 
thrift  dominating  even  in  that  hour  of  death.  "Land- 
sharks  is  allus  lookin'  out  sharp  for  sailormen  that  git  on 
shore." 

"It's  why  I  don't  dast  to  go  into  business — me  that's  fol- 
lered  the  sea  so  long,"  returned  the  skipper,  nursing  his  ach 
ing  leg. 

"Then  do  as  I  tell  ye  to  do,"  said  the  old  man  on  the  bed. 
"It  may  be  a  come-down  for  a  man  that's  had  men  under 
him  all  his  life,  but  it  amounts  to  more'n  five  hundred  a 
year,  sure  and  stiddy.  It's  something  to  do,  and  you 
couldn't  stand  it  to  loaf — you  that's  always  been  so  active. 
It  ain't  reskin'  anything,  and  with  all  the  passin'  and  the 
meetin'  folks,  and  the  gossipin'  and  the  chattin',  and  all  that, 
all  your  time  is  took  up.  It's  honer'ble,  it's  stiddy.  Leave 
your  money  where  it  is,  take  my  place,  and  keep  this  job  in 
the  family." 

The  two  men  were  talking  in  a  little  cottage  at  the  end  of 
a  long  covered  bridge.  A  painted  board  above  the  door 
heralded  the  fact  that  the  cottage  was  the  toll-house,  and 
gave  the  rates  of  toll. 

"It's  Providence  that  has  sent  you  here  jest  as  I  was  bein' 
took  out  of  the  world,"  went  on  Uncle  Jerry.  "You're  my 

2 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

only  rel'tive.  I'm  leavin'  you  the  three  thousand  I've  ac 
cumulated.  I  want  to  leave  you  the  job,  too.  I — " 

A  hoarse  hail  outside  interrupted.  The  Cap'n,  scowling, 
shuffled  out  and  came  in,  jingling  some  pennies  in  his  brown 
hand. 

"I  feel  like  a  hand-organ  monkey  every  time  I  go  out 
there,"  he  muttered. 

"I  tell  ye,"  protested  the  old  man,  as  earnestly  as  his 
feebleness  would  permit,  "there's  lots  of  big  business  in  this 
world  that  don't  need  so  long  a  head  as  this  one  does — bein' 
as  how  you're  goin'  to  run  it  shipshape.  You  need  brains; 
that  you  do,  nephy.  It  '11  keep  you  studyin'  all  the  time. 
When  you  git  interested  in  it  you  ain't  never  goin'  to  have 
time  to  be  lonesome.  There's  the  plain  hello  folks  to  be 
treated  one  way,  the  good-day  folks,  the  pass-the-time-o'- 
day  folks,  the  folks  that  need  the  tip  o'  the  hat — jest  for 
politeness,  and  not  because  you're  beneath  'em,"  he  hastened 
to  add,  noting  the  skipper's  scowl;  "the  folks  that  swing  up 
to  the  platform,  the  folks  that  you've  got  to  chase  a  little, 
even  if  it  is  muddy;  the  folks  that  pay  in  advance  and  want 
you  to  remember  it  and  save  'em  trouble,  the  folks  that  pay 
when  they  come  back,  and  the  folks  that  never  pay  at  all — 
and  I  tell  ye,  nephy,  there's  where  your  work  is  cut  out  for 
ye!  I've  only  had  one  arm,  but  there's  mighty  few  that 
have  ever  done  me  out  of  toll,  and  I'm  goin'  to  give  ye  a  tip 
on  the  old  bell-wether  of  'em  all.  I'm  goin'  to  advise  ye  to 
stand  to  one  side  and  let  him  pass.  He's — 

"And  me  a  man  that's  licked  every — " 

"Hold  on!     He's  diff'runt  from  all  you've  ever  tackled." 

In  his  excitement  the  old  toll-gatherer  attempted  to 
struggle  upon  his  elbow.  He  choked.  The  nurse  came 
and  laid  him  back  with  gentle  remonstrance.  Before  he  had 
2  3 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

regained  his  voice  to  talk  more  the  minister  came,  obeying 
a  summons  of  grave  import.  Then  came  One  who  sealed 
One-arm  Jerry's  lips  and  quieted  the  fingers  that  had  been 
picking  at  the  faded  coverlet  as  though  they  were  gathering 
pennies. 

And  a  day  later,  half  sullenly,  the  Cap'n  accepted  the 
proposition  of  the  directors  of  the  bridge  company,  who  had 
said  some  very  flattering  things  to  him  about  the  reliability 
of  the  Sproul  family.  He  reflected  that  he  was  far  enough 
from  tide-water  to  avoid  the  mariners  who  had  known  him 
in  his  former  state.  "I'll  dock  and  repair  riggin',"  he  pon 
dered.  "It's  a  come-down,  but  I'll  clear  and  cruise  again 
when  the  notion  strikes  me." 

His  possessions  came  promptly  by  express — his  sea-chest, 
two  parrots,  and  a  most  amazing  collection  of  curios  that 
fairly  transformed  the  little  cottage  where  the  skipper,  with 
seaman's  facility  in  housekeeping,  set  up  bachelor's  hall. 

He  grudgingly  allowed  to  himself  that  he  was  going  to  like 
it.  The  sun  beamed  blandly  warm  on  the  little  bench  before 
the  toll-house.  His  rheumatism  felt  better.  People  com 
mented  admiringly  on  such  of  the  curios  as  were  displayed 
in  the  windows  of  the  cottage.  And  when  the  parrots — • 
"Port"  and  "Starboard" — ripped  out  such  remarks  as 
"Ahoy!"  "Heave  to!"  "Down  helium!"  and  larded  the  con 
versation  with  horrible  oaths,  the  wayfarers  professed  to  see 
great  humor  in  the  performance. 

In  a  little  while  the  parrots  would  squall  as  soon  as  a 
traveller  appeared  at  the  brow  of  the  river  hill  or  poked  out 
from  the  dim  depths  of  the  covered  bridge.  Even  when  the 
Gap'n  was  busy  in  his  little  kitchen  he  never  failed  to  receive 
due  notice  of  the  approach  of  persons  either  in  wagons  or 
on  foot. 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"It  will  be  a  good  man  who  runs  toll  on  this  bridge,"  he 
mused  one  day,  as  he  poked  dainties  between  the  bars  of  the 
parrots'  cages.  "The  old  'un  was  a  good  man  in  his  day, 
like  all  the  Sprouls.  He  didn't  have  but  one  arm,  but  there 
wa'n't  many  that  ever  come  it  over  him.  I've  been  thinkin' 
about  one  that  did,  and  that  he  was  scart  of.  If  there  was 
ever  a  man  that  scart  him,  and  kept  him  scart  till  the  day  he 
died,  then  I'd  like  to  see  that  same.  It  will  be  for  me  to 
show  him  that  the  nephy  has  some  accounts  of  the  poor  old 
uncle  to  square." 

Up  the  slope  where  the  road  to  Smyrna  Bridge  wound  be 
hind  the  willows  there  was  the  growing  rattle  of  wheels. 
The  Cap'n  cocked  his  head.  His  seaman's  instinct  detected 
something  stormy  in  that  impetuous  approach.  He  fixed 
his  gaze  on  the  bend  of  the  road. 

Into  sight  came  tearing  a  tall,  gaunt  horse,  dragging  a 
wagon  equally  tall  and  gaunt.  The  horse  was  galloping,  and 
a  tall  man  in  the  wagon  stood  up  and  began  to  crack  a  great 
whip,  with  reports  like  a  pistol  fusillade. 

Cap'n  Sproul  took  three  defiant  steps  into  the  middle  of 
the  road,  and  then  took  one  big  step  back — a  stride  that 
made  his  "rheumatiz  speak  up,"  but  a  stride  that  carried 
him  safely  to  his  platform.  The  team  roared  past.  The 
big  whip  swished  over  his  head,  and  the  snapper  barked  in 
his  ear.  He  got  one  fleeting  glimpse  at  the  man  who  was 
driving — a  man  with  a  face  as  hard  as  a  pine  knot.  His  lips 
were  rolled  away  from  his  yellow  teeth  in  a  grimace  that  was 
partly  a  grin,  partly  a  sneer.  A  queer,  tall,  pointed  cap  with 
a  knob  on  its  top  was  perched  on  his  head  like  a  candle- 
snuffer  on  a  taper.  With  a  shrill  yell  and  more  crackings 
of  his  whip  he  disappeared  into  the  gloomy  mouth  of  the 
covered  bridge,  and  the  roaring  echoes  followed  him. 

5 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

The  skipper  stood  looking  first  at  the  mouth  of  the  bridge 
and  then  at  the  sign  above  it  that  warned: 

THREE   DOLLARS'  FINE 
FOR  DRIVING  FASTER  THAN  A  WALK 

"As  I  was  jest  sayin',"  he  muttered,  as  the  noise  of  the 
wheels  died  away,  "I  should  like  to  see  that  man — and  I 
reckon  as  how  I  have." 

He  sat  down  under  the  woodbine  that  wreathed  the  little 
porch  and  slowly  filled  his  pipe,  his  gaze  still  on  the  bridge 
opening.  As  he  crooked  his  leg  and  dragged  the  match 
across  the  faded  blue  of  his  trousers  he  growled : 

"I  dunno  who  he  is,  nor  where  he's  come  from,  nor  where 
he's  goin'  to,  nor  when  he  expects  to  get  back,  but,  as  near 
as  I  can  figger  it,  he  owes  me  ten  cents'  toll  and  three  dollars' 
fine-money,  makin'  a  total  of  three  ten,  to  be  charged  and 
collected,  as  I  understand  it." 

When  he  had  got  his  pipe  to  going,  after  some  little  grunt- 
ings,  he  pulled  out  a  note-book  and  a  stubby  pencil  and 
marked  down  the  figures.  At  the  head  of  the  page  he 
scrawled: 

"Old  Hurrycain,  Dr." 

"  That  name  '11  have  to  do  till  I  git  a  better  one,"  he  mused, 
and  then  stood  up  to  receive  toll  from  a  farmer  who  drove 
slowly  out  from  the  bridge,  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  his  horse 
walking  slouchily. 

"If  it  ain't  no  great  output  to  you,  mister,  to  tell,  do  you 
happen  to  know  who  was  the  nub  of  that  streak  of  wind  and 
cuss-words  that  jest  went  past  here  ?" 

The  farmer  bored  him  strangely  a  moment  with  his  little 

6 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

gimlet  eyes,  snorted  out  a  laugh,  clapped  his  reins,  and 
started  on. 

"I  heard  ye  was  a  joker!"  he  shouted  back,  his  beard 
trailing  over  his  shoulder  as  he  turned  his  head. 

"There  ain't  no  joke  to  this!"  roared  the  skipper.  But 
the  man  kept  on. 

Another  patron  emerged  from  the  bridge,  digging  from 
his  trousers  pocket. 

"You  spoke  it,  didn't  ye?"  demanded  the  skipper. 
"Chain  lightnin'  on  wheels.  Who  is  he  ?" 

The  man  grinned  amiably  and  appreciatively. 

"Quite  a  hand  to  hector,  ain't  ye,  toll-keeper?  He  was 
goin'  so  fast  I  didn't  know  him,  neither."  He  drove  on, 
though  the  Cap'n  hobbled  after  him,  shouting  strong  lan 
guage,  in  which  the  parrots  joined. 

"You  needn't  try  to  make  me  think  that  there  ain't  no 
body  who  don't  know  the  Kun'l,"  was  the  retort  the  man 
flung  over  his  shoulder. 

"Nice  and  accommodatin'  class  of  paternage  that's 
passin',"  growled  the  Cap'n,  kicking  an  inoffensive  chair 
as  he  came  back  to  his  platform.  "They  talk  about 
him  as  though  he  was  Lord  Gull  and  ruler  of  the 
stars.  Jest  as  though  a  man  that  had  sailed  deep  wa 
ter  all  his  days  knowed  all  the  old  land-pirut's  'round 
here!" 

It  was  a  pedestrian — Old  Man  Jordan,  bound  to  the 
village  with  a  few  pats  of  butter  in  a  bucket — that  the  skipper 
finally  held  up. 

"Oh,  sho!"  said  Old  Man  Jordan.  "'Course  ye  know 
him.  Every  one  does." 

"I  tell  you  I  don't!"  bawled  the  skipper. 

"Why,  yas  you  do." 

7 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"Say,  look  a-here,  What's-your-name,  I'm  goin'  to  give 
ye  ten  seconds  to  tell  me  the  name  of  that  critter." 

He  made  a  clutch  to  one  side,  and  then  remembered  with 
a  flush  that  he  was  no  longer  in  reach  of  a  spike-rack. 

"Why,  that  was  Kun'l  Gideon  Ward,"  faltered  Uncle 
Jordan,  impressed  at  last  by  the  Cap'n's  fury.  "I  thought 
ye  knew." 

"Thought!  Thought!  Why,  ye  never  thought  in  your 
life.  You  only  thought  you  thought.  I  dunno  no  more 
who  you  mean  by  '  Kun'l  Gideon  Ward '  than  as  though  you 
said  General  Bill  Beelzebub." 

"Why,  yas  you  do — 

"There  you  go  again!  Do  you  mean  to  stand  here  and 
tell  me  I'm  a  liar  ?" 

The  glare  in  the  seaman's  eyes  was  too  fierce  to  be 
fronted. 

"Kun'l  Gideon  Ward  is — is — wall,  he's  Kun'l  Gideon 
Ward." 

Jordan  backed  away  suddenly  at  the  oath  the  Cap'n  ripped 
out. 

"He  owns  more  timber  land  than  any  other  man  in  the 
county.  He  hires  more  men  than  any  one  else.  He  ain't 
never  been  downed  in  a  trade  or  a  fight  yet.  He's  got 
double  teeth,  upper  and  lower,  all  the  way  round,  drinks 
kairosene  in  the  winter  'cause  it's  more  warmin'  than  rum, 
and — and — " 

"Well,  what's  that  got  to  do  with  his  runnin'  toll  on  this 
bridge  ?"  demanded  the  Cap'n. 

"Bridge  piers  hold  up  his  logs,  he  says,  and  he  ain't  never 
goin'  to  pay  toll  till  the  bridgemen  pay  him  for  loss  of  time 
on  logs.  It's  been  what  you  might  call  a  stand-off  for  a 
good  many  years.  Best  thing  is  to  let  him  run  toll.  That's 

8 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

what  your  uncle  thought.     I  reckoned  you  knew  all  about 
Kun'l  Gid  Ward.     Why,  everybody  knows — " 

"Say,  you  let  up  on  that  string  right  now  and  here," 
snorted  the  Cap'n. 

Old  Man  Jordan  trotted  away. 

While  the  skipper  was  still  pondering  on  the  matter  of 
Colonel  Ward — the  meditation  had  lasted  over  into  the  next 
day — there  was  a  roar  on  the  bridge,  and  the  subject  of  his 
reflections  passed  in  a  swirl  of  dust  on  his  return  trip.  He 
was  standing  up  in  his  wagon  as  before,  and  he  saluted  the 
indignant  toll-man  with  a  flick  of  his  whip  that  started  the 
dust  from  the  latter's  pea-jacket. 

"He's  been  over  to  the  home  place  to  see  his  sister  Jane," 
volunteered  Uncle  Jordan,  again  on  his  way  to  the  village 
with  eggs.  "She  ain't  never  got  married,  and  he  ain't  never 
got  married.  Old  Squire  Ward  left  his  whole  property  to 
the  two  of  'em,  and  the  Kun'l  ain't  ever  let  it  be  divided.  He 
runs  the  whole  estate  and  domineers  over  her,  and  she  don't 
dast  to  say  her  soul's  her  own.  If  I  was  Jane  I'd  have  my 
half  out  and  git  married  to  some  nice  man,  and  git  a  little 
comfort  out'n  life.  He  don't  give  her  none — don't  let  her 
have  the  handlin'  of  a  cent  of  money.  She's  a  turrible  nice 
sort  of  woman.  There's  risin'  a  hundred  thousand  dollars 
in  her  share,  if  the  truth  was  known,  and  there's  been  some 
pretty  good  men  shine  up  around  her  a  little,  but  the  Kun'l 
has  run  'em  away  with  a  picked  stick." 

"Has,  hey?" 

"There  ain't  no  Jack  the  Giant-Killers  in  these  parts," 
sighed  Old  Man  Jordan,  hooking  his  bucket  upon  his  arm 
and  shambling  away. 

For  several  days  Cap'n  Sproul  was  busy  about  the  gable 
end  of  the  bridge  during  his  spare  moments  and  hours, 

9 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

climbing  up  and  down  the  ladder,  and  handling  a  rope  and 
certain  pulleys  with  sailor  dexterity.  All  the  time  his  grim 
jaw-muscles  ridged  his  cheeks.  When  he  had  finished  he 
had  a  rope  running  through  pulleys  from  the  big  gate  up 
over  the  gable  of  the  bridge  and  to  the  porch  of  the  toll-house. 

"There,"  he  muttered,  with  great  satisfaction,  "that's  the 
first  bear-trap  I  ever  set,  and  it  ain't  no  extra  sort  of  job,  but 
I  reckon  when  old  grizzly  goes  ag'inst  it  he'll  cal'late  that 
this  'ere  is  a  toll-bridge." 

Then  came  days  of  anxious  waiting.  Sometimes  a  team 
ster's  shouts  to  his  horses  up  around  the  willows  sent  the 
Cap'n  hobbling  to  the  end  of  the  rope.  An  unusual  rattling 
in  the  bridge  put  him  at  his  post  with  his  teeth  set  and  his 
eyes  gleaming. 


II 

NE  day  a  mild  and  placid  little  woman  in  dove- 
gray  came  walking  from  the  bridge  and  handed 
over  her  penny.  She  eyed  the  skipper  with 
interest,  and  cocked  her  head  with  the  pert 
demureness  of  a  sparrow  while  she  studied  the 
parrots  who  were  waddling  about  their  cages. 

"I  never  heard  a  parrot  talk,  sir,"  she  said.  "I  hear 
that  yours  talk.  I  should  dearly  love  to  hear  them." 

"Their  language  is  mostly  deep-water  flavor,"  said  the 
Cap'n,  curtly,  "and  'tain't  flavored  edsackly  like  vanilla 
ice-cream.  There's  more  of  the  peppersass  tang  to  it  than 
ladies  us'ly  enjoys." 

The  little  woman  gave  a  chirrup  at  the  birds,  and,  to  the 
skipper's  utter  astonishment,  both  Port  and  Starboard 
chirruped  back  sociably.  Port  then  remarked  :  "Pretty 
Polly!"  Starboard  chirruped  a  few  cheery  bars  from  "A 
Sailor's  Wife  a  Sailor's  Star  Should  Be."  Then  both  par 
rots  rapped  their  beaks  genially  against  the  bars  of  the 
cages  and  beamed  on  the  lady  with  their  little  button 
eyes. 

"Well,  I  swow!"  ejaculated  the  Cap'n,  rubbing  his 
knurly  forefinger  under  his  nose,  and  glancing  first  at  the 
parrots  and  then  at  the  lady.  "If  that  ain't  as  much  of  an 
astonisher  as  when  the  scuttle-butt  danced  a  jig  on  the 
dog-vane!  Them  two  us'ly  cusses  strangers,  no  matter 

ii 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

what  age  or  sect.  They  was  learnt  to  do  it."  He  gazed 
doubtfully  at  the  birds,  as  though  they  might  possibly  be 
deteriorating  in  the  effeminacies  of  shore  life. 

"I  always  was  a  great  hand  with  pets  of  all  kinds,"  said 
the  lady,  modestly.  "Animals  seem  to  take  to  me  sort  of 
naturally.  I  hear  you  have  long  followed  the  sea,  Cap'n 
Sproul — I  believe  that's  the  name,  Cap'n  Sproul  ?" 

"Sproul  it  is,  ma'am — Aaron  for  fore-riggin'.  Them  as 
said  I  follered  the  sea  was  nearer  than  shore-folks  us'ly 
be.  Took  my  dunnage  aboard  at  fourteen,  master  at 
twenty-four,  keel-hauled  by  rheumatiz  at  fifty-six — wouldn't 
be  here  if  it  wasn't  for  that.  I  ain't  stuck  on  a  penny- 
flippin'  job  of  this  sort." 

"I  should  think  it  would  be  very  pleasant  after  all  the 
storms  and  the  tossings.  And  yet  the  sea — the  sea,  the 
glorious  sea — has  always  had  a  great  fascination  for  me — 
even  though  I've  never  seen  it." 

"Nev — nev — never  seen  salt  water!"     This  amazedly. 

"Never."  This  sadly.  "I've  been  kept — I've  stayed  very 
closely  at  my  home.  Being  a  single  lady,  I've  had  no  one 
to  talk  to  me  or  take  me  about.  I  have  read  books  about 
the  ocean,  but  I've  never  had  any  chance  to  hear  a  real 
and  truly  mariner  tell  about  the  wonderful  waste  of  waters 
and  describe  foreign  countries.  I  suppose  you  have  been 
'way,  'way  out  to  sea,  Cap'n  Sproul — across  the  ocean,  I 
mean." 

She  had  timidly  edged  up  and  taken  one  of  the  chairs  on 
the  porch,  gazing  about  her  at  the  curios. 

"Well,  ma'am,"  remarked  the  Cap'n,  dryly,  as  he  seated 
himself  in  another  chair,  "I've  waded  across  a  cove  wunst  or 
twice  at  low  water." 

"I  should  love  so  to  hear  a  mariner  talk  of  his  adventures. 

12 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

I  have  never  had  much  chance  to  talk  with  any  man — I 
mean  any  sailor.  I  have  been  kept — I  mean  I  have  stayed 
very  closely  at  home  all  my  life." 

"It  broadens  a  man,  it  sartain  does,  to  travel,"  said  the 
skipper,  furtively  slipping  a  sliver  of  tobacco  into  his  cheek 
and  clearing  his  throat  preparatory  to  yarning  a  bit.  The 
frank  admiration  and  trustful  innocence  in  the  eyes  of  the 
pretty  woman  touched  him. 

"I  suppose  you  have  been  out  at  sea  in  some  awful 
storms,  Cap'n.  I  often  think  of  the  sailormen  at  sea  when 
the  snow  beats  against  the  window  and  the  winds  howl 
around  the  corner." 

"The  wu'st  blow  I  ever  remember,"  began  the  skipper, 
leaning  back  and  hooking  his  brown  hands  behind  his  head 
like  a  basket,  "was  my  second  trip  to  Bonis  Airis — general 
cargo  out,  to  fetch  back  hides.  It  was  that  trip  we  found 
the  shark  that  had  starved  to  death,  and  that  was  a  story 
that  was  worth  speakin'  of.  It — " 

There  was  a  hoarse  bellow  of  "Giddap!"  up  behind  the 
willows.  Then  into  sight  came  galloping  the  tall,  gaunt 
horse  of  Colonel  Gideon  Ward.  The  Colonel  stood  up, 
smacking  his  whip. 

With  one  leap  the  Cap'n  was  at  his  rope,  and  began  to 
haul  in  hand  over  hand. 

The  big  gate  at  the  mouth  of  the  bridge  squalled  on  its 
rusty  hinges. 

"You  mustn't  shut  that  gate — you  mustn't!"  shrieked 
the  little  woman.  She  ran  and  clutched  at  his  sturdy  arms. 
"That's  my  brother  that's  coming!  You'll  break  his 
neck!" 

The  gate  was  already  half  shut,  and  the  doughty  skipper 
kept  on  pulling  at  the  rope. 

13 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"Can't  help  it,  ma'am,  if  it's  the  apostle  Paul,"  he 
gritted.  "There  ain't  nobody  goin'  to  run  toll  on  this 
bridge." 

"It  will  kill  him." 

"It's  him  that's  lickin'  that  hoss.     'Tain't  me." 

"It's  my  brother,  I  tell  you!"  She  tried  to  drag  the  rope 
out  of  his  hands,  but  he  shook  her  off,  pulled  the  big  gate 
shut,  set  his  teeth,  clung  to  the  rope,  and  waited. 

The  rush  down  the  hill  had  been  so  impetuous  and  the 
horse  was  now  running  so  madly  under  the  whip  that  there 
was  no  such  thing  as  checking  him.  With  a  crash  of 
splintering  wood  he  drove  breast-on  against  the  gate,  throw 
ing  up  his  bony  head  at  the  end  of  his  scraggy  neck.  At 
the  crash  the  woman  screamed  and  covered  her  eyes.  But 
the  outfit  was  too  much  of  a  catapult  to  be  stopped.  Through 
the  gate  it  went,  and  the  wagon  roared  away  through  the 
bridge,  the  driver  yelling  oaths  behind  him. 

Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul  walked  out  and  strolled  among  the 
scattered  debris,  kicking  it  gloomily  to  right  and  left.  The 
woman  followed  him. 

"It  was  awful,"  she  half  sobbed. 

"So  you're  Miss  Jane  Ward,  be  ye?"  he  growled,  glan 
cing  at  her  from  under  his  knotted  eyebrows.  "Speakin' 
of  your  pets,  I  should  reckon  that  'ere  brother  of  yourn 
wa'n't  one  that  you  had  tamed  down  fit  to  be  turned  loose. 
But  you  tell  him  for  me,  the  next  time  you  see  him,  that  I'll 
plug  the  end  of  that  bridge  against  him  if  it  takes  ev'ry  dum 
cent  of  the  prop'ty  I'm  wuth — and  that's  thutty  thousand 
dollars,  if  it's  a  cent.  I  ain't  none  of  your  two-cent  chaps!" 
he  roared,  visiting  his  wrath  vicariously  on  her  as  a  represent 
ative  of  the  family.  "I've  got  money  of  my  own.  Your 
brother  seems  to  have  made  door-mats  out'n  most  of  the 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

folks  round  here,  but  I'll  tell  ye  that  he's  wiped  his  feet  on 
me  for  the  last  time.  You  tell  him  that,  dum  him!" 

Her  face  was  white,  and  her  eyes  were  shining  as  she 
looked  at  him. 

"Gideon  has  always  had  his  own  way,  Cap'n  Sproul," 
she  faltered.  "I  hope  you  won't  feel  too  bitter  against  him. 
It  would  be  awful — he  so  headstrong — and  you  so — so — 
brave!"  She  choked  this  last  out,  unclasping  her  hands. 

"Well,  I  ain't  no  coward,  and  I  never  was,"  blurted  the 
Cap'n. 

"It's  the  bravest  man  that  overcomes  himself,"  she  said. 
"Now,  you  have  good  judgment,  Cap'n.  My  brother  is 
hot-headed.  Every  one  knows  that  you  are  a  brave  man. 
You  can  afford  to  let  him  go  over  the  bridge  without — 

"Never!"  the  skipper  howled,  in  his  best  sea  tones. 
"You're  the  last  woman  to  coax  and  beg  for  him,  if  half 
what  they  tell  me  is  true.  He  has  abused  you  wuss'n  he 
has  any  one  else.  If  you  and  the  rest  ain't  got  any  spunk, 
I  have.  You'll  be  one  brother  out  if  he  comes  slam- 
bangin'  this  way  ag'in." 

She  looked  at  him  appealingly  for  a  moment,  then  tip 
toed  over  the  fragments  of  the  gate,  and  hurried  away 
through  the  bridge. 

"You  ain't  no  iron-clad,  Kun'l  Ward,"  muttered  Sproul. 
"I'll  hold  ye  next  time." 

He  set  to  work  on  the  river-bank  that  afternoon,  cutting 
saplings,  trusting  to  the  squall  of  the  faithful  parrots  to 
signal  the  approach  of  passers. 

But  the  next  day,  when  he  was  nailing  the  saplings  to 
make  a  truly  Brobdingnagian  grid,  one  of  the  directors  of 
the  bridge  company  appeared  to  him. 

"We're  not  giving  you  license  to  let  any  one  run  toll  on 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

this  bridge,  you  understand,"  said  the  director,  "but  this 
fighting  Colonel  Ward  with  our  property  is  another  matter. 
It's  like  fighting  a  bear  with  your  fists.  And  even  if  you 
killed  the  bear,  the  hide  wouldn't  be  worth  the  damage.  He 
has  got  too  many  ways  of  hurting  us,  Cap'n.  He  has  always 
had  his  own  way  in  these  parts,  and  he  probably  always  will. 
Let  him  go.  We  won't  get  the  toll,  nor  the  fines,  but  we'll 
have  our  bridge  left." 

"I  was  thinking  of  resigning  this  job,"  returned  the 
Cap'n;  "it  was  not  stirrin'  enough  for  a  seafarin'  man;  but 
I'm  sort  of  gittin'  int'rested.  How  much  will  ye  take  for 
your  bridge  ?" 

But  the  director  curtly  refused  to  sell. 

"All  right,  then,"  said  the  skipper,  chocking  his  axe 
viciously  into  a  sapling  birch  and  leaving  it  there,  "I'll  fill 
away  on  another  tack." 

For  the  next  two  weeks,  as  though  to  exult  in  his  victory, 
the  Colonel  made  many  trips  past  the  toll-house. 

He  hurled  much  violent  language  at  the  Cap'n.  The 
Cap'n,  reinforced  with  his  vociferous  parrots,  returned  the 
language  with  great  enthusiasm  and  volubility. 

Then  came  the  day  once  more  when  the  little  woman  sat 
down  in  a  chair  in  the  shade  of  the  woodbine. 

"I  took  the  first  chance,  Cap'n,  while  my  brother  has 
gone  up-country,  to  come  to  tell  you  how  much  I  appreciate 
your  generous  way  of  doing  what  I  asked  of  you.  You  are 
the  first  man  that  ever  put  away  selfish  pride  and  did  just 
what  I  asked." 

The  seaman  started  to  repudiate  vigorously,  but  looked 
into  her  brimming  eyes  a  moment,  choked,  and  was 
silent. 

"Yes,  sir,  you're  what  I  call  noble,  not  to  pay  any  atten- 

16 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

tion  to  the  boasts  my  brother  is  making  of  how  he  has 
backed  you  down." 

"He  is,  is  he  ?"     The  Cap'n  rolled  up  his  lip  and  growled. 

"But  I  know  just  how  brave  you  are,  to  put  down  all 
your  anger  at  the  word  of  a  poor  woman.  And  a  true  gen 
tleman,  too.  There  are  only  a  few  real  gentlemen  in  the 
world,  after  all." 

The  Cap'n  slid  his  thumb  into  the  armhole  of  his  waist 
coat  and  swelled  his  chest  out  a  little. 

"There  was  no  man  ever  come  it  over  me,  and  some 
good  ones  have  tried  it,  ma'am.  So  fur  as  women  goes,  I 
ain't  never  been  married,  but  I  reckon  I  know  what  polite 
ness  to  a  lady  means." 

She  smiled  at  him  brightly,  and  with  such  earnest  admira 
tion  that  he  felt  a  flush  crawling  up  from  under  his  collar. 
He  blinked  at  her  and  looked  away.  Starboard,  with  an 
embarrassing  aptness  that  is  sometimes  displayed  by  chil 
dren,  whistled  a  few  bars  of  "A  Sailor's  Wife  a  Sailor's  Star 
Should  Be." 

"I  don't  mind  owning  up  to  you  that  my  brother  has 
imposed  upon  me  in  a  great  many  ways,"  said  the  little 
lady,  her  eyes  flashing.  "I  have  endured  a  good  deal  from 
him  because  he  is  my  brother.  I  know  just  how  you  feel 
about  him,  Cap'n,  and  that's  why  it  makes  me  feel  that 
we  have  a — a  sort  of  what  you  might  call  common  interest. 
I  don't  know  why  I'm  talking  so  frankly  with  you,  who  are 
almost  a  stranger,  but  I've  been — I  have  always  lacked 
friends  so  much,  that  now  I  can't  seem  to  help  it.  You 
truly  do  seem  like  an  old  friend,  you  have  been  so  willing 
to  do  what  I  asked  of  you,  after  you  had  time  to  think  it 
over." 

The  Cap'n  was  now  congratulating  himself  that  he 

'7 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

hadn't  blurted  out  anything  about  the  bridge  director  and 
that  sapling  fence.  It  certainly  was  a  grateful  sound — 
that  praise  from  the  pretty  lady!  He  didn't  want  to  in 
terrupt  it. 

"Now  will  you  go  on  with  that  story  of  the  storm  ?"  she 
begged,  hitching  the  chair  a  bit  nearer.  "I  want  to  hear 
about  your  adventures." 

She  had  all  the  instincts  of  Desdemona,  did  that  pretty 
little  lady.  Three  times  that  week  she  came  to  the  toll 
house  and  listened  with  lips  apart  and  eyes  shining.  Cap'n 
Sproul  had  never  heard  of  Othello  and  his  wooing,  but 
after  a  time  his  heart  began  to  glow  under  the  reverent  re 
gard  she  bent  on  him.  Never  did  mutual  selection  more 
naturally  come  about.  She  loved  him  for  the  perils  he  had 
braved,  and  he — robbed  of  his  mistress,  the  sea — yearned 
for  just  such  companionship  as  she  was  giving  him.  He 
had  known  that  life  lacked  something.  This  was  it. 

And  when  one  day,  after  a  stuttering  preamble  that 
lasted  a  full  half  hour,  he  finally  blurted  out  his  heart- 
hankering,  she  wept  a  little  while  on  his  shoulder — it  being 
luckily  a  time  when  there  was  no  one  passing — and  then 
sobbingly  declared  it  could  never  be. 

"Fraid  of  your  brother,  hey?"  he  inquired. 

She  bumped  her  forehead  gently  on  his  shoulder  in  nod 
of  assent. 

"I  reckon  ye  like  me  ?" 

"Oh,  Aaron!"  It  was  a  volume  of  rebuke,  appeal,  and 
affection  in  two  words. 

"Then  there  ain't  nothin'  more  to  say,  little  woman. 
You  ain't  never  had  any  one  to  look  out  for  your  int'rests 
in  this  life.  After  this,  it's  me  that  does  it.  I  don't  want 
your  money.  I've  got  plenty  of  my  own.  But  your  inter- 

18 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

ests  bein'  my  interests  after  this,  you  hand  ev'rything  over 
to  me,  and  I'll  put  a  twist  in  the  tail  of  that  Bengal  tiger 
in  your  fam'ly  that  '11  last  him  all  his  life." 

At  the  end  of  a  long  talk  he  sent  her  away  with  a  pat  on 
her  shoulder  and  a  cheery  word  in  her  ear. 

It  was  Old  Man  Jordan  who,  a  week  or  so  later,  on  his 
way  to  the  village  with  butter  in  his  bucket,  stood  in  the 
middle  of  the  road  and  tossed  his  arms  so  frenziedly  that 
Colonel  Ward,  gathering  up  his  speed  behind  the  willows, 
pulled  up  with  an  oath. 

"  Ye're  jest  gittin'  back  from  up-country,  ain't  ye  ?"  asked 
Uncle  Jordan. 

"What  do  you  mean,  you  old  fool,  by  stoppin'  me  when 
I'm  busy  ?  What  be  ye,  gittin'  items  for  newspapers  ?" 

"No,  Kun'l  Ward,  but  I've  got  some  news  that  I  thought 
ye  might  like  to  hear  before  ye  went  past  the  toll-house  this 
time.  Intentions  between  Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul  and  Miss 
Jane  Ward  has  been  published." 

"Wha-a-at!" 

"They  were  married  yistiddy." 

"Wha —       The  cry  broke  into  inarticulateness. 

"The  Cap'n  ain't  goin'  to  be  toll-man  after  to-day.  Says 
he's  goin'  to  live  on  the  home  place  with  his  wife.  There!" 
Uncle  Jordan  stepped  to  one  side  just  in  time,  for  the  gaunt 
horse  sprung  under  the  lash  as  though  he  had  the  wings 
of  Pegasus. 

The  Cap'n  was  sitting  in  front  of  the  toll-house.  The 
tall  horse  galloped  down  the  hill,  but  the  Colonel  stood  up, 
and,  with  elbows  akimbo  and  hands  under  his  chin,  yanked 
the  animal  to  a  standstill,  his  splay  feet  skating  through 
the  highway  dust.  The  Colonel  leaped  over  the  wheel  and 
reversed  his  heavy  whip-butt.  The  Cap'n  stood  up,  grip- 
3  19 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

ping  a  stout  cudgel  that  he  had  been  whittling  at  for  many 
hours. 

While  the  new  arrival  was  choking  with  an  awful  word 
that  he  was  trying  his  best  to  work  out  of  his  throat,  the 
Cap'n  pulled  his  little  note-book  out  of  his  pocket  and  slow 
ly  drawled: 

"I  reckoned  as  how  ye  might  find  time  to  stop  some  day, 
and  I've  got  your  account  all  figgered.  You  owe  thirteen 
tolls  at  ten  cents  each,  one  thutty,  and  thirteen  times  three 
dollars  fine — the  whole  amountin'  to  jest  forty  dollars  and 
thutty  cents.  Then  there's  a  gate  to — 

"I'm  goin'  to  kill  you  right  in  your  tracks  where  you 
stand!"  bellowed  the  Colonel. 

The  Cap'n  didn't  wait  for  the  attack.  He  leaped  down 
off  his  porch,  and  advanced  with  the  fierce  intrepidity  of  a 
sea  tyrant. 

"You'll  pay  that  toll  bill,"  he  gritted,  "if  I  have  to  pick 
it  out  of  your  pockets  whilst  the  coroner  is  settin'  on  your 
remains." 

The  bully  of  the  countryside  quailed. 

"You've  stole  my  sister!"  he  screamed.  "This  ain't 
about  toll  I'm  talkin'.  You've  been  and  robbed  me  of  my 
sister!" 

"Do  you  want  to  hear  a  word  on  that?"  demanded  the 
Cap'n,  grimly.  He  came  close  up,  whirling  the  cudgel. 
"You're  an  old.  cheap,  ploughed-land  blowhard,  that's  what 
you  are!  You've  cuffed  'round  hired  men  and  abused  weak 
wimmen-folks.  I  knowed  you  was  a  coward  when  I  got 
that  line  on  ye.  You  don't  dast  to  stand  up  to  a  man  like 
me.  I'll  split  your  head  for  a  cent."  He  kept  advancing 
step  by  step,  his  mien  absolutely  demoniac.  "I've  married 
your  sister  because  she  wanted  me.  Now  I'm  goin'  to 

20 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

take  care  of  her.  I've  got  thutty  thousand  dollars  of  my 
own,  and  she's  giv'  me  power  of  attorney  over  hers.  I'll 
take  every  cent  of  what  belongs  to  her  out  of  your  business, 
and  I  know  enough  of  the  way  that  your  business  is  tied 
up  to  know  that  I  can  crowd  you  right  to  the  wall.  Now 
do  ye  want  to  fight  ?" 

The  tyrant's  face  grew  sickly  white,  for  he  realized  all 
that  threat  meant. 

"But  there  ain't  no  need  of  a  fight  in  the  fam'ly — and  I 
want  you  to  understand  that  I'm  a  pretty  dum  big  part  of 
the  fam'ly  after  this.  Be  ye  ready  to  listen  to  reason  ?" 

"You're  a  robber!"  gasped  the  Colonel,  trying  again  to 
muster  his  anger. 

"I've  got  a  proposition  to  make  so  that  there  won't  be 
no  pull-haulin'  and  lawyers  to  pay,  and  all  that." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Pardnership  between  you  and  me — equal  pardners. 
I've  been  lookin'  for  jest  this  chance  to  go  into  business." 

The  Colonel  leaped  up,  and  began  to  stamp  round  his 
wagon. 

"No,  sir,"  he  howled  at  each  stamp.  "I'll  go  to  the 
poor-farm  first." 

"Shouldn't  wonder  if  I  could  put  you  there,"  calmly  re 
joined  the  Cap'n.  "These  forced  lickidations  to  settle 
estates  is  something  awful  when  the  books  ain't  been  kept 
any  better'n  yours.  I  shouldn't  be  a  mite  surprised  to  find 
that  the  law  would  get  a  nab  on  you  for  cheatin'  your  poor 
sister." 

Again  the  Colonel's  face  grew  white. 

"All  is,"  continued  the  Cap'n,  patronizingly,  "if  we  can 
keep  it  all  in  the  fam'ly,  nice  and  quiet,  you  ain't  goin'  to 
git  showed  up.  Now,  I  ain't  goin'  to  listen  to  no  more 

21 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

abuse  out  of  you.  I'll  give  you  jest  one  minute  to  decide. 
Look  me  in  the  eye.  I  mean  business." 

"You've  got  me  where  I'll  have  to,"  wailed  the  Colonel. 

"Is  it  pardnership  ?" 

"Yas!"     He  barked  the  word. 

"Now,  Colonel  Ward,  there's  only  one  way  for  you  and 
me  to  do  bus'ness  the  rest  of  our  lives,  and  that's  on  the 
square,  cent  for  cent.  We  might  as  well  settle  that  p'int 
now.  Fix  up  that  toll  bill,  or  it's  all  off.  I  won't  go  into 
business  with  a  man  that  don't  pay  his  honest  debts." 

He  came  forward  with  his  hand  out. 

The  Colonel  paid. 

"Now,"  said  the  Cap'n,  "seein'  that  the  new  man  is 
here,  ready  to  take  holt,  and  the  books  are  all  square,  I'll 
ride  home  with  you.  I've  been  callin'  it  home  now  for  a 
couple  of  days." 

The  new  man  at  the  toll-house  heard  the  Cap'n  talking 
serenely  as  they  drove  away. 

"I  didn't  have  any  idee,  Colonel,  I  was  goin'  to  like  it  so 
well  on  shore  as  I  do.  Of  course,  you  meet  some  pleasant 
and  some  unpleasant  people,  but  that  sister  of  yours  is 
sartinly  the  finest  woman  that  ever  trod  shoe-leather,  and 
it  was  Providunce  a-speakin'  to  me  when  she — 

The  team  passed  away  into  the  gloomy  mouth  of  the 
Smyrna  bridge. 


Ill 

NCE  on  a  time  when  the  Wixon  boy  put 
Paris-green  in  the  Trufants'  well,  because  the 
oldest  Trufant  girl  had  given  him  the  mitten, 
Marm  Gossip  gabbled  in  Smyrna  until  flecks 
of  foam  gathered  in  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 
But  when  Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul,  late  of  the  deep  sea,  so 
promptly,  so  masterfully  married  Col.  Gideon  Ward's 
sister — after  the  irascible  Colonel  had  driven  every  other 
suitor  away  from  that  patient  lady — and  then  gave  the 
Colonel  his  "everlasting  comeuppance,"  and  settled  down 
in  Smyrna  as  boss  of  the  Ward  household,  that  event 
nearly  wore  Gossip's  tongue  into  ribbons. 

"I  see'd  it  from  a  distance — the  part  that  happened  in 
front  of  the  toll-house,"  said  Old  Man  Jordan.  "Now, 
all  of  ye  know  that  Kun'l  Gid  most  gin'ly  cal'lates  to  eat 
up  folks  that  says  'Boo'  to  him,  and  pick  his  teeth  with 
slivers  of  their  bones.  But  talk  about  your  r'yal  Pee- 
ruvian  ragin'  lions — or  wherever  they  come  from — why, 
that  Cap'n  Sproul  could  back  a  'Rabian  caterwouser  right 
ofF'm  Caterwouser  Township!  I  couldn't  hear  what  was 
said,  but  I  see  Kun'l  Gid,  hoss-gad  and  all,  backed  right 
up  into  his  own  wagon;  and  Cap'n  Sproul  got  in,  and 
took  the  reins  away  from  him  as  if  he'd  been  a  pindlin' 
ten-year-old,  and  drove  off  toward  the  Ward  home  place. 
And  that  Cap'n  don't  seem  savage,  nuther." 

23 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"Wai,  near's  I  can  find  out,"  said  Odbar  Broadway  from 
behind  his  counter,  where  he  was  counting  eggs  out  of  Old 
Man  Jordan's  bucket,  "the  Cap'n  had  a  club  in  one  hand 
and  power  of  attorney  from  Kun'l  Gid's  sister  in  the  other 
— and  a  threat  to  divide  the  Ward  estate.  The  way  Gid's 
bus'ness  is  tied  up  jest  at  present  would  put  a  knot  into  the 
tail  of  'most  any  kind  of  a  temper." 

"I'm  told  the  Cap'n  is  makin'  her  a  turrible  nice  hus 
band,"  observed  one  of  the  store  loungers. 

Broadway  folded  his  specs  into  their  case  and  came  from 
behind  the  counter. 

"Bein'  a  bus'ness  man  myself,"  he  said,  "I  come  pretty 
nigh  knowin'  what  I'm  talkin'  about.  Kun'l  Gid  Ward 
can  never  flout  and  jeer  that  the  man  that  has  married  his 
sister  was  nothin'  but  a  prop'ty-hunter.  I'm  knowin'  to  it 
that  Cap'n  Sproul  has  got  thutty  thousand  in  vessel  prop'ty 
of  his  own,  'sides  what  his  own  uncle  Jerry  here  left  to  him. 
Gid  Ward  has  trompled  round  this  town  for  twenty-five 
years,  and  bossed  and  browbeat  and  cussed,  and  got  the 
best  end  of  every  trade.  If  there's  some  one  come  along 
that  can  put  the  wickin'  to  him  in  good  shape,  I  swow  if 
this  town  don't  owe  him  a  vote  of  thanks." 

"There's  a  movement  on  already  to  ask  Cap'n  Sproul  to 
take  the  office  of  first  s'lec'man  at  the  March  meetin',"  said 
one  of  the  loafers. 

"I  sha'n't  begretch  him  one  mite  of  his  popularity," 
vowed  the  storekeeper.  "Any  man  that  can  put  Kun'l 
Gid  Ward  where  he  belongs  is  a  better  thing  for  the  town 
than  a  new  meetin'-house  would  be." 

But  during  all  this  flurry  of  gossip  Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul 
spent  his  bland  and  blissful  days  up  under  the  shade  of  the 
big  maple  in  the  Ward  dooryard,  smoking  his  pipe,  and 

24 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

gazing  out  over  the  expanse  of  meadow  and   woodland 
stretching  away  to  the  horizon. 

Most  of  the  time  his  wife  was  at  his  elbow,  peering  with 
a  species  of  adoration  into  his  browned  countenance  as  he 
related  his  tales  of  the  sea.  She  constantly  carried  a  little 
blank-book,  its  ribbon  looped  about  her  neck,  and  made 
copious  entries  as  he  talked.  She  had  conceived  the  fond 
ambition  of  writing  the  story  of  his  life.  On  the  cover  was 
inscribed,  in  her  best  hand: 

FROM  SHORE  TO  SHORE 

LINES    FROM   A   MARINER'S   ADVENTURES 

The  Life  Story  of  the  Gallant  Captain  Aaron  Sproul 

Written   by  His  Affectionate   Wife 

"I  reckon  that  Providunce  put  her  finger  on  my  compass 
when  I  steered  this  way,  Louada  Murilla,"  said  the  Cap'n 
one  day,  pausing  to  relight  his  pipe. 

He  had  insisted  on  renaming  his  wife  "Louada  Murilla," 
and  she  had  patiently  accepted  the  new  name  with  the 
resignation  of  her  patient  nature.  But  the  name  pleased 
her  after  her  beloved  lord  had  explained. 

"I  was  saving  that  name  for  the  handsomest  clipper-ship 
that  money  could  build,"  he  said.  "But  when  I  married 
you,  little  woman,  I  got  something  better  than  a  clipper- 
ship;  and  when  you  know  sailorman's  natur'  better,  you'll 
know  what  that  compliment  means.  Yes,  Providunce  sent 
me  here,"  continued  the  Cap'n,  poking  down  his  tobacco 
with  broad  thumb.  "There  I  was,  swashin'  from  Hackenny 
to  t'other  place,  livin'  on  lobscouse  and  hoss-meat;  and 
here  you  was,  pinin'  away  for  some  one  to  love  you  and  to 

25 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

talk  to  you  about  something  sensibler  than  dropped  stitches 
and  croshayed  lamp-mats.  Neat's  I  can  find  out  about 
your  'sociates  round  here,  you  would  have  got  more  real 
sense  out  of  talkin'  with  Port  and  Starboard  up  there," 
he  added,  pointing  to  his  pet  parrots,  which  had  followed 
him  in  his  wanderings.  "We  was  both  of  us  hankerin'  for 
a  companion— I  mean  a  married  companion.  And  I 
reckon  that  two  more  suiteder  persons  never  started  down 
the  shady  side — holt  of  hands,  hey  ?" 

He  caught  her  hands  and  pulled  her  near  him,  and  she 
bent  down  and  kissed  his  weather-beaten  forehead. 

At  that  instant  Col.  Gideon  Ward  came  clattering  into 
the  yard  in  his  tall  wagon.  He  glared  at  this  scene  of  con 
jugal  affection,  and  then  lashed  his  horse  savagely  and  dis 
appeared  in  the  direction  of  the  barn. 

"I  read  once  about  a  skelington  at  a  feast  that  rattled  his 
dry  bones  every  time  folks  there  started  in  to  enjoy  them 
selves,"  said  the  Cap'n,  after  he  watched  the  scowling 
Colonel  out  of  sight.  "For  the  last  two  weeks,  Louada 
Murilla,  it  don't  seem  as  if  I've  smacked  you  or  you've 
smacked  me  but  when  I've  jibed  my  head  I've  seen  that 
ga'nt  brother-in-law  o'  mine  standing  off  to  one  side  sourer'n 
a  home-made  cucumber  pickle.' 

"It's  aggravatin'  for  you,  I  know  it  is,"  she  faltered. 
"But  I've  been  thinkin'  that  perhaps  he'd  get  more  recon 
ciled  as  the  time  goes  on. 

"Reconciled  ?"  snapped  the  Cap'n,  a  little  of  the  pepper 
in  his  nature  coming  to  the  surface.  "If  it  was  any  one 
but  you,  little  woman,  that  talked  about  me  as  though  I 
was  death  or  an  amputated  leg  in  this  family,  I'd  get  hot 
under  the  collar.  But  I  tell  ye,  we  ain't  got  many  years 
left  to  love  each  other  in.  We  started  pritty  late.  We 

26 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

can't  afford  to  waste  any  time.  And  we  can't  afford  to 
have  the  edge  taken  off  by  that  Chinese  image  standin' 
around  and  makin'  faces.  I've  been  thinkin'  of  tellin' 
him  so.  But  the  trouble  is  with  me  that  when  I  git  to 
arguin'  with  a  man  I'm  apt  to  forgit  that  I  ain't  on  ship 
board  and  talkin'  to  a  tar-heel." 

He  surveyed  his  brown  fists  with  a  certain  apprehensive- 
ness,  as  though  they  were  dangerous  parties  over  whom  he 
had  no  control. 

"I  should  dretfully  hate  to  have  anything  come  up  be 
tween  you  and  Gideon,  Cap'n,"  she  faltered,  a  frightened 
look  in  her  brown  eyes.  "It  wouldn't  settle  anything  to 
have  trouble.  But  you've  been  about  so  much  and  seen 
human  nature  so  much  that  it  seems  as  though  you  could 
handle  him  different  than  with— with — 

"Poundin'  him,  eh?"  Smiles  broke  over  the  skipper's 
face.  "See  how  I'm  softened,  little  woman!"  he  cried. 
"Time  was  when  I  would  have  chased  a  man  that  made 
faces  at  me  as  he  done  just  now,  and  I'd  have  pegged  him 
into  the  ground.  But  love  has  done  a  lot  for  me  in  makin' 
me  decent.  If  I  keep  on,  I'll  forgit  I've  got  two  fists — and 
that's  something  for  a  shipmaster  to  say,  now,  I'll  tell  ye! 
A  man  has  got  to  git  into  love  himself  to  know  how  it 
feels." 

Sudden  reflection   illuminated  his  face. 

"Ain't  old  pickalilly — that  brother  of  yourn — ever  been 
in  love  ?"  he  asked. 

"Why  —  why,"  she  stammered,  "he's  been  in  —  well, 
sometimes  now  I  think  perhaps  it  ain't  love,  knowin'  what 
I  do  now — but  he's  been  engaged  to  Pharlina  Pike  goin'  on 
fifteen  years.  And  he's  been  showin'  her  attentions  longer'n 
that.  But  since  I've  met  you  and  found  out  how  folks 

27 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

don't  usually  wait  so  long  if  they — they're  in  love — well, 

I>  5> 

ve — 

"Fifteen  years!"  he  snorted.  "What  is  he  waitin'  for — 
for  her  to  grow  up  ?" 

"Land  sakes,  no!  She's  about  as  old  as  he  is.  She's 
old  Seth  Pike's  daughter,  and  since  Seth  died  she  has  run 
the  Pike  farm  with  hired  help,  and  has  done  real  well  at 
it.  Long  engagements  ain't  thought  strange  of  'round 
here.  Why,  there's — 

"Fifteen  years!"  he  repeated.  "That's  longer'n  old 
Methus'lum  courted." 

"But  Gideon  has  been  so  busy  and  away  from  home  so 
much  in  the  woods,  and  Pharlina  ain't  been  in  no  great 
pucker,  seein'  that  the  farm  was  gettin'  on  well,  and — 

"There  ain't  no  excuse  for  him,"  broke  in  the  Cap'n, 
with  vigor.  He  was  greatly  interested  in  this  new  discov 
ery.  His  eyes  gleamed.  "Tain't  usin'  her  right.  She 
can't  step  up  to  him  and  set  the  day.  'Tain't  woman's 
sp'ere,  that  ain't.  I  didn't  ask  you  to  set  the  day.  I  set 
it  myself.  I  told  you  to  be  ready." 

Her  cheek  flushed  prettily  at  the  remembrance  of  that 
impetuous  courtship,  when  even  her  dread  of  her  ogre 
brother  had  been  overborne  by  the  Cap'n's  masterful  man 
ner,  once  she  had  confessed  her  love. 

"I  know  what  love  is  myself,"  went  on  the  Cap'n.  "He 
don't  know;  that's  what  the  trouble  is  with  him.  He 
ain't  been  waked  up.  Let  him  be  waked  up  good  and 
plenty,  and  he  won't  be  standin'  around  makin'  faces  at 
us.  I  see  what's  got  to  be  done  to  make  a  happy  home 
of  this.  You  leave  it  to  me." 

They  saw  the  Colonel  stamping  in  their  direction  from 
the  barn. 

28 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"You  run  into  the  house,  Louada  Murilla,"  directed  the 
Cap'n,  "and  leave  me  have  a  word  with  him." 

The  Colonel  was  evidently  as  anxious  as  the  Cap'n  for 
a  word. 

"Say,  Sproul,"  he  gritted,  as  he  came  under  the  tree, 
"I've  got  an  offer  for  the  stumpage  on  township  number 
eight.  Seein'  that  you're  in  equal  partners  with  me  on 
my  sister's  money,"  he  sneered,  "I  reckon  I've  got  to  give 
ye  figures  and  prices,  and  ask  for  a  permit  to  run  my  own 
business." 

"Seems  'most  as  if  you  don't  enj'y  talkin'  business  with 
me,"  observed  the  Cap'n,  with  a  meek  wistfulness  that  was 
peculiarly  aggravating  to  his  grouchy  partner. 

"I'd  about  as  soon  eat  pizen!"  stormed  the  other, 

"Then  let's  not  do  it  jest  now,"  the  Cap'n  returned, 
sweetly.  "I've  got  something  more  important  to  talk 
about  than  stumpage.  Money  and  business  ain't  much 
in  this  world,  after  all,  when  you  come  to  know  there's 
something  diff'runt.  Love  is  what  I'm  referrin'  to.  Word 
has  jest  come  to  me  that  you're  in  love,  too,  the  same  as 
I  am." 

The  gaunt  Colonel  glared  malevolently  down  on  the 
sturdy  figure  sprawling  in  the  garden  chair.  The  Cap'n's 
pipe  clouds  curled  about  his  head,  and  his  hands  were 
stuffed  comfortably  into  his  trousers  pockets.  His  face 
beamed. 

"Some  might  think  to  hear  you  talk  that  you  was  a  soft 
old  fool  that  had  gone  love-cracked  'cause  a  woman  jest 
as  soft  as  you  be  has  showed  you  some  attention,"  choked 
the  Colonel.  "But  I  know  what  you're  hidin'  under  your 
innocent-Abigail  style.  I  know  you're  a  jill-poke." 

"A  what?"  blandly  asked  Sproul. 

29 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"That's  woods  talk  for  the  log  that  makes  the  most 
trouble  on  the  drive — and  it's  a  mighty  ornery  word." 

"Er — something  like  'the  stabboard  pi-oogle,'  which 
same  is  a  seafarin'  term,  and  is  worse,"  replied  the  Cap'n, 
with  bland  interest  in  this  philological  comparison.  "But 
let's  not  git  strayed  off'm  the  subject.  Your  sister,  Louada 
Murilla— " 

The  gaunt  man  clacked  his  bony  fists  together  in  ecstasy 
of  rage. 

"She  was  christened  Sarah  Jane,  and  that's  her  name. 
Don't  ye  insult  the  father  and  mother  that  gave  it  to  her 
by  tackin'  on  another.  I've  told  ye  so  once;  I  tell  ye 

5> 

so — 

"Louada  Murilla,"  went  on  the  Cap'n,  taking  his  huge 
fists  out  of  his  pockets  and  cocking  them  on  his  knees,  not 
belligerently,  but  in  a  mildly  precautionary  way,  "told  me 
that  you  had  been  engaged  to  a  woman  named  Phar — 
Phar-" 

"Oh,  give  her  any  name  to  suit  ye!"  snarled  the  Colonel. 
"That's  what  ye're  doin'  with  wimmen  round  here." 

"You  know  who  I  mean,"  pursued  Sproul,  complacent 
ly,  "seein'  that  you've  had  fifteen  years  to  study  on  her 
name.  Now,  bein'  as  I'm  one  of  the  fam'ly,  I'm  going  to 
ask  you  what  ye're  lally-gaggin'  along  for  ?  Wimmen 
don't  like  to  be  on  the  chips  so  long.  I  am  speakin'  to  you 
like  a  man  and  a  brother  when  I  say  that  married  life  is 
what  the  poet  says  it  is.  It's — 

"I've  stood  a  good  deal  from  you  up  to  now!"  roared 
Ward,  coming  close  and  leaning  over  threateningly.  "You 
come  here  to  town  with  so  much  tar  on  ye  that  your  feet 
stuck  every  time  you  stood  still  in  one  place;  you  married 
my  sister  like  you'd  ketch  a  woodchuck;  you've  stuck  your 

3° 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

fingers  into  my  business  in  her  name — but  that's  jest  about 
as  fur  as  you  can  go  with  me.  There  was  only  one  man 
ever  tried  to  advise  me  about  gitting  married — and  he's 
still  a  cripple.  There  was  no  man  ever  tried  to  recite  love 
poetry  to  me.  You  take  fair  warnin'." 

"Then  you  ain't  willin'  to  listen  to  my  experience,  con- 
siderin'  that  I've  been  a  worse  hard-shell  than  you  ever 
was  in  marriage  matters,  and  now  see  the  errors  of  my 
ways  ?"  The  Cap'n  was  blinking  up  wistfully. 

"It  means  that  I  take  ye  by  your  heels  and  snap  your 
head  off,"  rasped  Ward,  tucking  his  sleeves  away  from  his 
corded  wrists.  "You  ain't  got  your  club  with  you  this 
time." 

The  Cap'n  sighed  resignedly,, 

"Now,"  went  on  the  Colonel,  with  the  vigorous  decision 
of  a  man  who  feels  that  he  has  got  the  ascendency,  "you 
talk  about  something  that  amounts  to  something.  That 
stumpage  on  number  eight  is  mostly  cedar  and  hackma 
tack,  and  I've  got  an  offer  from  the  folks  that  want  sleepers 
for  the  railroad  extension." 

He  went  on  with  facts  and  figures,  but  the  Cap'n  listened 
with  only  languid  interest.  He  kept  sighing  and  wrinkling 
his  brows,  as  though  in  deep  rumination  on  a  matter  far 
removed  from  the  stumpage  question.  When  the  agree 
ment  of  sale  was  laid  before  him  he  signed  with  a  blunted 
lead-pencil,  still  in  his  trance. 

"Northin'  but  a  cross-cut  saw  with  two  axe-handles  for 
legs,"  he  said  to  himself,  his  eyes  on  the  Colonel's  back  as 
that  individual  stamped  wrathfully  away.  "Teeth  and 
edge  are  hard  as  iron!  It's  no  good  to  talk  mattermony  to 
him.  Prob'ly  it  wouldn't  do  no  good  for  me  to  talk  matter 
mony  to  Phar — Phar — to  t'other  one.  She  couldn't  ask 

31 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

him  to  go  git  a  minister,  'Tain't  right  to  put  that  much 
onto  a  woman's  shoulders.  The  trouble  with  him  is  that 
he's  too  sure  of  wimmen.  Had  his  sister  under  his  thumb 
all  them  years,  and  thought  less  and  less  of  her  for  stayin' 
there.  He's  too  sure  of  t'other.  Thinks  nobody  else 
wants  her.  Thinks  all  he's  got  to  do  is  step  round  and 
git  her  some  day.  Ain't  got  no  high  idee  of  wimmen  like  I 
have.  Thinks  they  ought  to  wait  patient  as  a  tree  in  a 
wood-lot.  Has  had  things  too  much  his  own  way,  I  say. 
Hain't  never  had  his  lesson.  Thinks  nobody  else  don't 
want  her,  hey?  And  she  can  wait  his  motions!  He  needs 
his  lesson.  Lemme  see!" 

With  his  knurly  forefinger  at  his  puckered  forehead  he 
sat  and  pondered. 

He  was  very  silent  at  supper. 

The  Colonel,  still  exulting  in  his  apparent  victory,  said 
many  sneering  and  savage  things,  and  clattered  his  knife 
truculently  on  his  plate.  Sproul  merely  looked  at  him 
with  that  wistful  preoccupation  that  still  marked  his 
countenance. 

"He's  a  quitter,"  pondered  the  Colonel.  "I  reckon  he 
ain't  playin'  lamb  so's  to  tole  me  on.  He's  growed  soft — 
that's  what  he's  done." 

Ward  went  to  sleep  that  night  planning  retaliation. 

Sproul  stayed  awake  when  the  house  was  quiet,  still 
pondering. 


IV 

URING  the  next  few  days,  as  one  treads 
farther  and  farther  out  upon  thin  ice  to  test 
it,  the  Colonel  craftily  set  about  regaining, 
inch  by  inch,  his  lost  throne  as  tyrant.  Oc 
casionally  he  checked  himself  in  some  alarm, 
to  wonder  what  meant  that  ridging  of  the  Cap'n's  jaw- 
muscles,  and  whether  he  really  heard  the  seaman's  teeth 
gritting.  Once,  when  he  recoiled  before  an  unusually 
demoniac  glare  from  Sproul,  the  latter  whined,  after  a  vio 
lent  inward  struggle: 

"It  beats  all  how  my  rheumaticks  has  been  talkin'  up 
lately.  I  don't  seem  to  have  no  ginger  nor  spirit  left  in 
me.  I  reckon  I  got  away  from  the  sea  jest  in  time.  I 
wouldn't  even  dare  to  order  a  nigger  to  swab  decks,  the 
way  I'm  feelin'  now." 

"You've  allus  made  a  good  deal  of  talk  about  how  many 
men  you've  handled  in  your  day,"  said  the  Colonel,  tucking 
a  thumb  under  his  suspender  and  leaning  back  with  super 
cilious  cock  of  his  gray  eyebrows.  "It's  bein'  hinted  round 
town  here  more  or  less  that  you're  northin'  but  bluff.  I 
don't  realize,  come  to  think  it  over,  how  I  ever  come  to 
let  you  git  such  a  holt  in  my  fam'ly.  I— 

The  two  were  sitting,  as  was  their  custom  in  those  days 
of  the  Colonel's  espionage,  under  the  big  maple  in  the 
yard.  A  man  who  was  passing  in  the  highway  paused  and 
leaned  on  the  fence. 

33 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"Can  one  of  you  gents  tell  me,"  he  asked,  "where  such 
a  lady  as  Miss  Phar" — he  consulted  a  folded  paper  that 
he  held  in  his  hand — "Pharleena  Pike  lives  about  here?" 

He  was  an  elderly  man  with  a  swollen  nose,  striated  with 
purple  veins.  Under  his  arm  he  carried  a  bundle  done  up 
in  meat-paper. 

There  was  a  queer  glint  of  excitement  in  the  eyes  of  the 
Cap'n.  But  he  did  not  speak.  He  referred  the  matter 
to  Ward  with  a  jab  of  his  thumb. 

"What  do  you  want  to  know  where  Miss  Pike  lives 
for?"  demanded  the  Colonel,  looking  the  stranger  over 
with  great  disfavor. 

"None  of  your  business,"  replied  the  man  of  the  swollen 
nose,  promptly.  "I've  asked  a  gent's  question  of  one  I 
took  to  be  a  gent,  and  I'd  like  a  gent's  reply." 

"You  see,"  said  Cap'n  Sproul  to  the  stranger,,  with  a  con 
fidential  air,  as  though  he  were  proposing  to  impart  the 
secret  of  the  Colonel's  acerbity,  "Colonel  Ward  here  is — 

"You  go  'long  two  miles,  swing  at  the  drab  school-house, 
and  go  to  the  second  white  house  on  the  left-hand  side  of 
the  road!"  shouted  Ward,  hastily  breaking  in  on  the  ex 
planation.  His  thin  cheeks  flushed  angrily.  The  man 
shuffled  on. 

"Why  don't  you  print  it  on  a  play-card  that  I'm  en 
gaged  to  Pharlina  Pike  and  hang  it  on  the  fence  there  ?" 
the  Colonel  snorted,  wrathfully,  whirling  on  the  Cap'n. 
"Didn't  it  ever  occur  to  you  that  some  things  in  this  world 
ain't  none  of  your  business  ?" 

The  Cap'n  sighed  with  the  resigned  air  that  he  had  been 
displaying  during  the  week  past. 

"Lemme  see,  where  was  I  ?"  went  on  the  Colonel,  surlily. 
"I  was  sayin',  wasn't  I,  that  I  didn't  see  how  I'd  let  you 

34 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

stick  yourself  into  this  fam'ly  as  you've  done  ?  It's  time 
now  for  you  and  me  to  git  to  a  reck'nin'.  There's  blamed 
liars  round  here  snick'rin'  in  their  whiskers,  and  sayin'  that 
you've  backed  me  down.  Now — 

Another  man  was  at  the  fence,  and  interrupted  with 
aggravating  disregard  of  the  Colonel's  intentness  on  the 
business  in  hand.  This  stranger  was  short  and  squat, 
stood  with  his  feet  braced  wide  apart,  and  had  a  canvas 
bag  slung  over  his  shoulder.  His  broad  face  wore  a  cheery 
smile. 

"I've  beat  nor' west  from  the  railroad,  fetched  a  covered 
bridge  on  the  port  quarter,  shipmates,"  he  roared,  jovially, 
"and  here  I  be,  bearin's  lost  and  dead-reck'nin'  skow- 
wowed." 

"Seems  to  be  your  breed,"  sneered  Ward  to  the  Cap'n. 
"What's  that  he's  sayin',  put  in  human  language?" 

"I'm  chartered  for  port — port" — he  also  referred  to  a 
folded  paper — "to  port  Furliny  Pike,  som'eres  in  this  lati 
tude.  Give  me  p'ints  o'  compass,  will  ye  ?" 

Ward  leaped  to  his  feet  and  strode  toward  the  fence,  his 
long  legs  working  like  calipers. 

"What  do  ye  want  of  Pharline  Pike?"  he  demanded, 
angrily. 

"None  of  your  business,"  replied  the  cheerful  sailor. 
"If  this  is  the  way  landlubbers  take  an  honest  man's  hail, 
ye're  all  jest  as  bad  as  I've  heard  ye  was." 

"I'm  a  mind  to  cuff  your  ears,"  yapped  the  Colonel. 

The  other  glanced  up  the  angular  height  of  his  an 
tagonist. 

"Try  it,"  he  said,  squaring  his  sturdy  little  figure.     "Try 
it,  and  I'll  climb  your  main  riggin'  and  dance  a  jig  on  that 
dog-vane  of  a  head  of  yourn." 
4  35 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

This  alacrity  for  combat  clearly  backed  down  Ward. 
In  his  rampageous  life  his  tongue  had  usually  served  him 
better  than  his  fists. 

"Avast,  shipmate!"  called  the  Cap'n,  in  his  best  sea 
tones.  The  sailor  beamed  delighted  recognition  of  marine 
masonry.  "The  fact  of  the  matter  is,  my  friend  here  has 
some  claim — the  truth  is,  he's — 

"You  go  'long  two  miles,  swing  at  the  drab  school-house, 
and  then  take  the  second  house — white  one — on  the  left- 
hand  side  of  the  road,"  bawled  Ward,  "and  you  go  mighty 
quick!" 

The  sailor  ducked  acknowledgment  and  rolled  away. 

"If  you'd  unpinned  that  mouth  of  yourn  fur  enough  to 
tell  that  tramp  that  I'm  engaged  to  Pharline  Pike,"  growled 
Ward,  returning  to  the  tree,  "I'd  'a'  broke  in  your  head — 
and  you  might  as  well  know  it  first  as  last." 

"Ain't  you  engaged  to  her?" 

"You  know  I  be." 

"Well,  I've  allus  told  the  truth  all  my  life — and  I  reckon 
I  shall  continner  to  tell  it.  If  you're  ashamed  to  have  it 
knowed  that  you're  engaged  to  Pharlina  Pike,  then  it's 
time  she  heard  so.  I'd  jest  as  soon  tell  her  as  not." 

"I  started  to  say  to  you,"  raged  Ward,  "that  you'd  stuck 
your  finger  into  my  pie  altogether  too  deep.  I  ain't  killed 
as  many  sailors  as  you're  braggin'  on,  but  there  ain't  no 
man  ever  licked  Gid  Ward,  and — 

"Near's  I  can  tell  from  what  I  hear  about  you,"  re 
torted  the  Cap'n,  "built  on  racin'  lines  as  you  be,  you've 
never  let  a  man  git  near  enough  to  lick  ye." 

Again  the  Colonel  noted  that  red  vengefulness  in  the 
skipper's  eyes,  and  recoiled  suspiciously. 

"Oh,  my  rheumaticks!"  the  seaman  hastened  to  moan. 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Ward  had  his  back  to  the  fence. 

"I  cal'Iate  as  how  there's  another  party  that  wants  his 
bearin's,"  suggested  Sproul. 

A  rather  decayed-looking  gentleman,  wearing  a  frock- 
coat  shiny  at  the  elbows,  and  a  fuzzy  plug-hat,  was  tapping 
his  cane  against  one  of  the  pickets  to  attract  attention. 

"I  am  looking  for  the  residence  of  Miss  Pharlina  Pike," 
he  announced,  with  a  precise  puckering  of  his  lips.  "I'll 
thank  you  for  a  word  of  direction.  But  I  want  to  say,  as 
a  lowly  follower  of  the  Lord — in  evangelical  lines — that  it 
is  not  seemly  for  two  men  to  quarrel  in  public." 

Ward  had  been  gaping  at  him  in  amazement. 

"I  can  tell  ye  right  now,"  he  cried,  "that  Miss  Pharline 
Pike  ain't  hirin'  no  farm-hand  that  wears  a  plug-hat!  There 
ain't  no  need  of  your  goin'  to  her  place." 

"My  dear  sir,"  smiled  the  decayed  gentleman,  "it  is  a 
delicate  matter  not  to  be  canvassed  in  public;  but  I  can 
assure  you  that  I  shall  not  remain  with  Miss  Pike  as  a 
menial  or  a  bond-servant.  Oh  no!  Not  by  any  means, 
sir!" 

Ward  scrufFed  his  hand  over  his  forehead,  blinking  with 
puzzled  astonishment. 

"I'll  thank  you  for  the  directions,"  said  the  stranger. 
"They  were  not  able  to  give  me  exact  instructions  at  the 
village — at  least,  I  cannot  remember  them." 

"I  ain't  no  dadfired  guide-board  to  stand  here  all  day 
and  p'int  the  way  to  Pharline  Pike's,"  roared  Ward,  with 
a  heat  that  astonished  the  decayed  gentleman. 

"I  don't  want  no  elder  to  go  away  from  this  place  and 
report  that  he  wa'n't  used  respectful,"  said  Sproul,  meekly, 
addressing  the  stranger.  "You'll  have  to  excuse  Colonel 

37 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Ward  here.  P'r'aps  I  can  say  for  him,  as  a  pertickler  friend, 
what  it  wouldn't  be  modest  for  him  to  say  himself.  The 
fact  is,  he's  en — 

The  infuriated  Ward  leaped  up  and  down  on  the  sward 
and  shrieked  the  road  instructions  to  the  wayfarer,  who 
hustled  away,  casting  apprehensive  glances  over  his  shoul 
der. 

But  when  the  Colonel  turned  again  on  the  Cap'n,  the 
latter  rose  and  hobbled  with  extravagant  limpings  toward 
the  house. 

"I  don't  reckon  I  can  stay  out  here  and  pass  talk  with 
you,  brother-in-law,"  he  called  back,  reproachfully. 
'"Strangers,  passin'  as  they  be,  don't  like  to  hear  no  such 
language  as  you're  usin'.  Jest  think  of  what  that  elder 
said!" 

Ward  planted  himself  upon  a  garden  chair,  and  gazed 
down  the  road  in  the  direction  in  which  the  strangers  had 
gone.  He  seemed  to  be  thinking  deeply,  and  the  Cap'n 
watched  him  from  behind  one  of  the  front-room  curtains. 

Two  more  men  passed  up  the  road.  At  the  first,  the 
Colonel  flourished  his  arms  and  indulged  in  violent  language, 
the  gist  of  which  the  Cap'n  did  not  catch.  He  ran  to  the 
fence  when  the  second  accosted  him,  tore  off  a  picket,  and 
flung  it  after  the  fleeing  man. 

Then  he  sat  down  and  pondered  more  deeply  still. 

He  cast  occasional  glances  toward  the  house,  and  once 
or  twice  arose  as  though  to  come  in.  But  he  sat  down  and 
continued  to  gaze  in  the  direction  of  Pharlina  Pike's  house. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  a  woman  came  hurrying 
down  the  slope  through  the  maple-sugar  grove.  The  Cap'n, 
at  his  curtain  with  his  keen  sea  eye,  saw  her  first.  He  had 
been  expecting  her  arrival.  He  knew  her  in  the  distance 

38 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

for  Pharlina  Pike,  and  realized  that  she  had  come  hot-foot 
across  lots. 

Sproul  was  under  the  big  maple  as  soon  as  she. 

"For  mercy  sakes,  Colonel  Gid,"  she  gasped,  "come 
over  to  my  house  as  quick's  you  can!" 

She  had  come  up  behind  him,  and  he  leaped  out  of  his 
chair  with  a  snap  like  a  jack-in-the-box. 

"There's  somethin'  on,  and  I  knowed  it!"  he  squalled. 
"What  be  them  men  peradin'  past  here  to  your  house  for, 
and  tellin'  me  it  ain't  none  of  my  business  ?  You  jest  tell 
me,  Pharline  Pike,  what  you  mean  by  triflin'  in  this  way  ?" 

"  Lord  knows  what  it's  all  about!     I  don't!"  she  quavered. 

"You  do  kncpv,  too!"  he  yelled.  "Don't  ye  try  to  pull 
wool  over  my  eyes!  You  do  know,  too!" 

"It's  a  turrible  thing  to  be  jealous,"  cooed  Cap'n  Sproul 
to  his  trembling  little  wife,  who  had  followed  at  his  heels. 

"I  don't  know,  either,"  wailed  the  spinster.  "There's 
one  of  'em  in  the  settin'-room  balancin'  a  plug-hat  on  his 
knees  and  sayin','Lo!  the  bridegroom  cometh';  and  there's 
two  on  the  front  steps  kickin'  the  dog  ev'ry  time  he  comes 
at  'em;  and  there's  one  in  the  kitchen  that  smells  o'  tar, 
and  has  got  a  bagful  of  shells  and  sech  things  for  presents 
to  me;  there's  one  in  the  barn  lookin'  over  the  stock — and 
I  s'pose  they're  comin'  down  the  chimbly  and  up  the  suller 
stairs  by  this  time.  You're  the  only  one  I've  got  in  the 
world  to  depend  on,  Colonel  Gid.  For  mercy  sakes, 
come!" 

"What  do  they  say — what's  their  excuse  ?"  he  demanded, 
suspiciously. 

"They  say — they  say,"  she  wailed — "they  say  they  want 
to  marry  me,  but  I  don't  know  what  they've  all  come  hov'rin' 
round  me  for — honest  to  Moses  I  don't!"  She  folded  her 

39 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

hands  in  her  apron  and  wrung  them.  "I'm  pretty  nigh 
scart  to  death  of  em,"  she  sobbed. 

"I  reckon  you  can  give  'em  an  earful  when  you  git  down 
there,"  said  the  Cap'n,  "when  you  tell  'em  that  you've 
been  engaged  to  her  for  fifteen  years.  But  it  ain't  none 
surprisin'  that  men  that  hear  of  that  engagement  should 
most  natch'ally  conclude  that  a  woman  would  like  to  git 
married  after  a  while.  I  cal'late  ye  see  now,  brother-in-law, 
that  you  ain't  the  only  man  that  appreciates  what  a  good 
woman  Miss  Pharlina  Pike  is." 

"You  come  along,  Pharline,"  said  the  Colonel,  taking 
her  arm,  after  he  had  bored  the  Cap'n  for  a  moment  with 
flaming  eye.  "I  reckon  I  can  pertect  ye  from  all  the 
tramps  ever  let  loose  out  of  jails — and — and  when  I  git  to 
the  bottom  of  this  I  predict  there'll  be  bloodshed — there'll 
be  bones  broke,  anyway."  With  one  more  malevolent  look 
at  the  Cap'n  he  started  away. 

"It's  only  a  short  cut  through  the  maple  growth,  Louada 
Murilla,"  said  Sproul.  "My  rheumaticks  is  a  good  deal 
better  of  a  sudden.  Let's  you  and  me  go  along." 

As  they  trudged  he  saw  farmers  at  a  distance  here  and 
there,  and  called  to  them  to  follow. 

"Look  here,  I  don't  need  no  bee!"  howled  the  Colonel. 
"This  ain't  nothing  to  spread  broadcast  in  this  com 
munity." 

"Never  can  tell  what's  li'ble  to  happen,"  retorted  Sproul. 
"Witnesses  don't  never  hurt  cases  like  this." 

He  continued  to  call  the  farmers,  despite  Ward's  objur 
gations.  Farmers  called  their  wives.  All  followed  behind 
the  engaged  couple.  As  usually  happens  in  country  com 
munities,  word  had  gone  abroad  in  other  directions  that 
there  were  strange  doings  at  the  Pike  place.  With  huge 

40 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

satisfaction  the  Cap'n  noted  that  the  yard  was  packed  with 
spectators. 

"Where  be  ye  ?"  bellowed  Colonel  Ward,  now  in  a  frenzy. 
"Where  be  ye,  ye  scalawags  that  are  round  tryin'  to  hector 
a  respectable  woman  that  wouldn't  wipe  her  feet  on  ye  ? 
Come  out  here  and  talk  to  me!" 

The  neighbors  fell  back,  recognizing  his  authority  in  the 
matter;  and  the  men  who  were  suing  this  modern  Penelope 
appeared  from  various  parts  of  the  premises. 

"I  desire  to  say,  as  a  clergyman  along  evangelical  lines, 
and  not  a  settled  pastor,"  said  the  man  in  the  fuzzy  plug- 
hat,  "that  I  do  not  approve  of  this  person's  violent  language. 
I  have  seen  him  once  before  to-day,  and  he  appeared  singu 
larly  vulgar  and  unrefined.  He  used  violent  language  then. 
I  desire  to  say  to  you,  sir,  that  I  am  here  on  the  best  of 
authority" — he  tapped  his  breast  pocket — "and  here  I 
shall  remain  until  I  have  discussed  the  main  question 
thoroughly  with  the  estimable  woman  who  has  invited  me 
here." 

"It's  a  lie — I  never  invited  him,  Colonel  Gid!"  cried  the 
spinster.  "If  you're  any  part  of  a  man,  and  mean  any 
part  of  what  you  have  allus  said  to  me,  you'll  make  him 
take  that  back." 

For  a  moment  the  Colonel's  jealous  suspicion  had  flamed 
again,  but  the  woman's  appeal  fired  him  in  another  di 
rection. 

"Look  here,  you  men,"  he  shouted,  his  gaze  running 
over  plug-hat,  swollen  nose,  seaman's  broad  face,  and  the 
faces  of  the  other  suitors,  "I'm  Gideon  Ward,  of  Smyrna, 
and  I've  been  engaged  to  Miss  Pharline  Pike  for  fifteen 
years,  and— 

"Then  I  don't  blame  her  for  changing  her  mind,  ye 

41 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

bloody  landlubber!"  snorted  the  seaman,  smacking  his 
hand  upon  his  folded  paper. 

"Being  engaged  signifies  little  in  the  courts  of  matri 
mony,"  said  the  decayed-looking  man  with  dignity.  "She 
has  decided  to  choose  another,  and — 

Colonel  Ward  threw  back  his  shoulders  and  faced  them 
all  with  glittering  eyes. 

"I'd  like  to  see  the  man  that  can  step  into  this  town  and 
lug  off  the  woman  that's  promised  to  me,"  he  raved.  "En 
gagements  don't  hold,  hey  ?  Then  you  come  this  way  a 
week  from  to-day,  and  you'll  see  Gideon  Ward  and  Phar- 
line  Pike  married  as  tight  as  a  parson  can  tie  the  knot. 
I  mean  it!"  The  excitement  of  the  moment,  his  rage  at 
interference  in  his  affairs,  his  desire  to  triumph  thus  publicly 
over  these  strangers,  had  led  him  into  the  declaration. 

The  spinster  gasped,  but  she  came  to  him  and  trustfully 
put  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"P'raps  some  can  be  put  off  by  that  bluff,"  said  the  man 
with  the  swollen  nose,  "but  not  me  that  has  travelled. 
I'm  here  on  business,  and  I've  got  the  dockyments,  and  if 
there's  any  shenanigan,  then  some  one's  got  to  pay  me  my 
expenses,  and  for  wear  and  tear."  He  waved  a  paper. 

Ward  leaped  forward  and  snatched  the  paper  from  his 
grasp. 

"It's  about  time  for  me  to  see  what  you're  flourishing 
round  here  promiskous,  like  a  bill  o'  sale  of  these  primises," 
he  snarled. 

"You  can  read  it,  and  read  it  out  jest  as  loud  as  you 
want  to,"  said  the  man,  coming  forward  and  putting  a 
grimy  finger  on  a  paragraph  displayed  prominently  on  the 
folded  sheet  of  newspaper. 

The  Colonel  took  one  look  and  choked.  An  officious 

42 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

neighbor  grabbed  away  the  paper  when  Ward  made  a  sign 
as  though  to  tuck  it  into  his  pocket. 

"I'll  read  it,"  said  the  neighbor.  "Mebbe  my  eyesight 
is  better'n  yourn."  Then  he  read,  in  shrill  tones: 

"NOTICE  TO  BACHELORS 

"Unmarried  maiden  lady,  smart  and  good-looking,  de 
sires  good  husband.  Has  two-hundred-and-thirty-acre 
farm  in  good  state  of  cultivation,  well  stocked,  and  will 
promise  right  party  a  home  and  much  affection.  Apply 
on  premises  to  Pharlina  Pike,  Smyrna." 

"I  never — I  never — dadrat  the  liar  that  ever  wrote  that!" 
screamed  the  spinster. 

"You  see  for  yourself,"  said  the  man  of  the  swollen  nose, 
ignoring  her  disclaimer.  "We're  here  on  business,  and 
expect  to  be  treated  like  business  men — or  expenses  re 
funded  to  us." 

But  the  Colonel  roared  wordlessly,  like  some  angry  ani 
mal,  seized  a  pitchfork  that  was  leaning  against  the  side  of 
the  spinster's  ell,  and  charged  the  group  of  suitors.  His 
mien  was  too  furious.  They  fled,  and  fled  far  and  forever. 

"There's  some  one,"  said  Ward,  returning  into  the  yard 
and  driving  the  fork-tines  into  the  ground,  "who  has  in 
sulted  Miss  Pike.  I'd  give  a  thousand  dollars  to  know 
who  done  that  writin'." 

Only  bewildered  stares  met  his  furious  gaze. 

"I  want  you  to  understand,"  he  went  on,  "that  no  one 
can  drive  me  to  git  married  till  I'm  ready.  But  I'm  standin' 
here  now  and  tellin'  the  nosy  citizens  of  this  place  that  I'm 
ready  to  be  married,  and  so's  she  who  is  goin'  to  be  my 
companion,  and  we'll  'tend  to  our  own  business  in  spite  of 

43 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

the  gossips  of  Smyrna.  It's  for  this  day  week!  I  don't 
want  no  more  lyin'  gossip  about  it.  You're  gittin'  it  straight 
this  time.  It's  for  this  day  week;  no  invitations,  no  cards, 
no  flowers,  no  one's  durnation  business.  There,  take  that 
home  and  chaw  on  it.  Pharline,  let's  you  and  me  go  into 
the  house." 

"I  reckon  there's  witnesses  enough  to  make  that  bindin'," 
muttered  Cap'n  Sproul  under  his  breath. 

He  bent  forward  and  tapped  the  Colonel  on  the  arm  as 
Ward  was  about  to  step  upon  the  piazza. 

"Who  do  ye  suspect?"  he  whispered,  hoarsely. 

It  was  a  perfectly  lurid  gaze  that  his  brother-in-law  turned 
on  him. 

What  clutched  Ward's  arm  was  a  grip  like  a  vise.  He 
glared  into  the  Colonel's  eyes  with  light  fully  as  lurid  as 
that  which  met  his  gaze.  He  spoke  low,  but  his  voice  had 
the  grating  in  it  that  is  more  ominous  than  vociferation. 

"I  thought  I'd  warn  ye  not  to  twit.  My  rheumaticks  is 
a  good  deal  better  at  this  writin',  and  my  mind  ain't  so 
much  occupied  by  other  matters  as  it  has  been  for  a  week 
or  so.  When  you  come  home  don't  talk  northin'  but  busi 
ness,  jest  as  you  natch'ally  would  to  a  brother-in-law  and 
an  equal  pardner.  That  advice  don't  cost  northin',  but 
it's  vallyble." 

As  Cap'n  Sproul  trudged  home,  his  little  wife's  arm 
tucked  snugly  in  the  hook  of  his  own,  he  observed,  soulfully: 

"  Mattermony,  Louada  Murilla  —  mattermony,  it  is  a 
blessed  state  that  it  does  the  heart  good  to  see  folks  git 
into  as  ought  to  git  into  it.  As  the  poet  says — um-m-m, 
well,  it's  in  that  book  on  the  settin'-room  what-not.  I'll 
read  it  to  ye  when  we  git  home." 


AP'N  AARON   SPROUL  was   posted   that 
bright  afternoon  on  the  end  of  his  piazza.    He 
sat   bolt   upright   and   twiddled   his   gnarled 
thumbs  nervously.     His  wife  came  out  and 
sat  down  beside  him. 
"Where  you  left  off,  Cap'n,"  she  prompted  meekly,  "was 
when  the  black,  whirling  cloud  was  coming  and  you  sent 
the  men  up-stairs — " 

"Aloft!"  snapped  Cap'n  Sproul. 

"I  mean  aloft— and  they  were  unfastening  the  sails  off 
the  ropes,  and — " 

"Don't  talk  of  snuggin'  a  ship  like  you  was  takin'  in  a 
wash,"  roared  the  ship-master,  in  sudden  and  ungallant  pas 
sion.  It  was  the  first  impatient  word  she  had  received  from 
him  in  that  initial,  cozy  year  of  their  marriage.  Her  mild 
brown  eyes  swam  in  tears  as  she  looked  at  him  wonderingly. 
"I — I  haven't  ever  seen  a  ship  or  the  sea,  but  I'm  trying 
so  hard  to  learn,  and  I  love  so  to  hear  you  talk  of  the  deep 
blue  ocean.  It  was  what  first  attracted  me  to  you."  Her 
tone  was  almost  a  whimper. 

But  her  meekness  only  seemed  to  increase  the  Cap'n's 
impatience. 

"You  haven't  seemed  to  be  like  your  natural  self  for  a 
week,"  she  complained,  wistfully.  "You  haven't  seemed 
to  relish  telling  me  stories  of  the  sea  and  your  narrow  es- 

45 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

capes.  You  haven't  even  seemed  to  relish  vittles  and  the 
scenery.  Oh,  haven't  you  been  weaned  from  the  sea  yet, 
Aaron  ?" 

Cap'n  Sproul  continued  to  regard  his  left  foot  with  fierce 
gloom.  He  was  giving  it  his  undivided  attention.  It  rested 
on  a  wooden  "cricket,"  and  was  encased  in  a  carpet  slipper 
that  contrasted  strikingly  with  the  congress  boot  that  shod 
his  other  foot.  Red  roses  and  sprays  of  sickly  green  vine 
formed  the  pattern  of  the  carpet  slipper.  The  heart  of  a 
red  rose  on  the  toe  had  been  cut  out,  as  though  the  canker- 
worm  had  eaten  it;  and  on  a  beragged  projection  that  stuck 
through  and  exhaled  the  pungent  odor  of  liniment,  the 
Cap'n's  lowering  gaze  was  fixed. 

"There's  always  somethin'  to  be  thankful  for,"  said  his 
meek  wife,  her  eyes  following  his  gaze.  "You've  only 
sprained  it,  and  didn't  break  it.  Does  it  still  ache, 
dear  ?" 

"It  aches  like — of  course  it  aches!"  roared  the  .Cap'n. 
"Don't  ask  that  jeebasted,  fool  question  ag'in.  I  don't 
mean  to  be  tetchy,  Louada  Murilla,"  he  went  on,  after  a 
little  pause,  a  bit  of  mildness  in  his  tone,  "but  you've  got 
to  make  allowance  for  the  way  I  feel.  The  more  I  set  and 
look  at  that  toe  the  madder  I  git  at  myself.  Oh,  I  hadn't 
ought  to  have  kicked  that  cousin  of  yourn,  that's  what  I 
hadn't!" 

"You  don't  know  how  glad  I  am  to  hear  you  say  that, 
Aaron,"  she  cried,  with  fervor.  "I  was  afraid  you  hadn't 
repented." 

"I  ought  to  'a'  hit  him  with  a  club  and  saved  my  toe, 
that's  what  I  mean,"  he  snorted,  with  grim  viciousness. 

She  sighed,  and  he  resumed  his  dismal  survey  of  the  lini 
ment-soaked  rags. 

46 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"Once  when  I  was — "  he  resumed,  in  a  low  growl,  after 
a  time. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad  you're  goin'  to  tell  a  story,  Cap'n,"  she 
chirped,  welcoming  his  first  return  of  good-nature  since  his 
mishap. 

"There  ain't  no  story  to  it,"  he  snapped.  "I  only  want 
to  say  that  there's  a  place  down  in  Africa  where  I  put  in 
with  the  Jefferson  P.  Benn  one  time,  where  they  daub  honey 
on  folks  that  they  want  to  git  red  of,  and  anchor  'em  on 
an  ant-bed.  That's  jest  what's  happenin'  to  me  here  in 
Smyrna,  and  my  thutty  thousand  dollars  that  I've  worked 
hard  for  and  earnt  and  saved  is  the  honey.  You've  lived 
among  them  here  all  your  life,  Louada  Murilla,  and  I  s'pose 
you've  got  more  or  less  wonted  to  'em.  But  if  I  hadn't 
squirmed  and  thrashed  round  a  little  durin'  the  time  I've 
lived  here,  after  marryin'  you  and  settlin'  down  among  'em, 
they'd  have  et  me,  honey,  money,  hide,  and  hair.  As  it  is, 
they've  got  their  little  lunch  off'm  me.  I  haven't  thrashed 
round  enough  till — till  yistiddy." 

He  wriggled  the  toe  in  the  centre  of  the  rose,  and 
grunted. 

"I  was  in  hopes  we  wouldn't  have  any  more  trouble  in 
the  family,  only  what  we've  had  with  brother  Gideon  since 
we've  been  married,"  she  said  mildly.  "Of  course, 
Marengo  Todd  is  only  a  second  cousin  of  mine,  but  still, 
he's  in  the  family,  you  know,  and  families  hang  together, 
'cause  blood — 

"Blood  is  what  they  want,  blast  'em!"  he  bawled,  angrily. 
"I've  used  Marengo  Orango,  there,  or  whatever  you  call 
him,  all  right,  ain't  I  ?  I've  let  him  do  me!  He  knowed  I 
was  used  to  sea  ways,  and  wa'n't  used  to  land  ways,  and 
that  he  could  do  me.  I  lent  him  money,  first  off,  because 

47 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

I  liked  you.  And  I've  lent  him  money  sence  because  I  like 
a  liar — and  he's  a  good  one!  I've  used  all  your  relatives 
the  best  I've  knowed  how,  and — and  they've  turned  round 
and  used  me!  But  I've  put  a  dot,  full-stop,  period  to  it — 
and  I  done  it  with  that  toe,"  he  added,  scowling  at  the 
pathetic  heart  of  the  red  rose. 

"I  wish  it  hadn't  been  one  of  the  family,"  she  sighed. 

"It  couldn't  well  help  bein'  one,"  snarled  the  Cap'n. 
"They're  about  all  named  Todd  or  Ward  round  here  but 
one,  and  his  name  is  Todd  Ward  Brackett,  and  he's  due 
next.  And  they're  all  tryin'  to  borry  money  off'm  me  and 
sell  me  spavined  hosses.  Now,  let's  see  if  they  can  take 
a  hint."  He  tentatively  wriggled  the  toe  some  more,  and 
groaned.  "The  Todds  and  the  Wards  better  keep  away 
from  me." 

Then  he  suddenly  pricked  up  his  ears  at  the  sound  of  the 
slow  rumble  of  a  wagon  turning  into  the  yard.  The  wagon 
halted,  and  they  heard  the  buzzing  twang  of  a  jew's-harp, 
played  vigorously. 

"There's  your  Todd  Ward  Brackett.  I  predicted  him! 
'Round  here  to  sell  ye  rotten  thread  and  rusted  tinware  and 
his  all-fired  Balm  o'  Joy  liniment." 

"It's  good  liniment,  and  I  need  some  more  for  your  toe,. 
Aaron,"  pleaded  his  wife,  putting  her  worsted  out  of  her 
lap. 

"I'll  chop  that  toe  off  and  use  it  for  cod  bait  before  I'll 
cure  it  by  buying  any  more  liniment  ofF'm  him,"  the  Cap'n 
retorted.  "You  jest  keep  your  settin',  Louada  Murilla. 
I'll  tend  to  your  fam'ly  end  after  this." 

He  struggled  up  and  began  to  hop  toward  the  end 
of  the  piazza.  The  new  arrival  had  burst  into  cheery 
song: 

48 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"There  was  old  Hip  Huff,  who  went  by  freight 
To  Newry  Corner,  in  this  State. 
Packed  him  in  a — " 

There  was  a  red  van  in  the  yard,  its  side  bearing  the 
legend: 

T.    BRACKETT, 

TINWARE    AND   YANKEE    NOTIONS. 
LICENSED    BY   C.    C. 

A  brisk,  little,  round-faced  man  sat  on  the  high  seat,  bolt 
upright  in  the  middle  of  it,  carolling  lustily.  It  was  "Balm 
o'  Joy"  Brackett,  pursuing  his  humble  vocation  and  using 
his  familiar  method  of  attracting  customers  to  their  doors. 

"Shet  up  that  clack!"  roared  the  Cap'n. 

"Hillo,  hullo,  hallah,  gallant  Captain,"  chirped  Brackett, 
imperturbable  under  the  seaman's  glare.  "I  trust  that 
glory  floods  your  soul  and  all  the  world  seems  gay."  And 
he  went  on  breathlessly: 

"May  ev'ry  hour  of  your  life  seem  like  a  pan  of  Jersey 
milk,  and  may  you  skim  the  cream  ofFm  it.  Let's  be 
happy,  let's  be  gay,  trade  with  me  when  I  come  your  way. 
Tinware  shines  like  the  new-ris'  sun,  twist,  braid,  needles 
beat  by  none;  here's  your  values,  cent  by  cent,  and  Balm  o' 
Joy  lin-i-ment.  Trade  with — " 

"Git  out  o'  this  yard!"  bawled  the  Cap'n,  in  his  storm- 
and- tempest  tones.  "You  crack-brained,  rag-and-bone- 
land-pirate,  git  off'm  my  premises!  I  don't  want  your  stuff. 
I've  bought  the  last  cent's  wu'th  of  you  I'll  ever  buy.  Git 
out!" 

"The  Cap'n  isn't  well  to-day,  Todd,"  quavered  Mrs. 
Sproul.  Fear  prompted  her  to  keep  still.  But  many  years 
of  confidential  barter  of  rags  for  knicknacks  had  made  Todd 

49 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Brackett  seem  like  "own  folks,"  as  she  expressed  it.  "We 
won't  trade  any  to-day,"  she  added,  apologetically. 

"Nor  we  won't  trade  ever,"  bawled  the  Cap'n,  poising 
himself  on  one  foot  like  an  angry  hawk.  "You  go  'long 
out  of  this  yard." 

Without  losing  his  smile — for  he  had  been  long  accus 
tomed  to  the  taunts  and  tirades  of  dissatisfied  housewives — 
the  peddler  backed  his  cart  around  and  drove  away,  crying 
over  his  shoulder  with  great  good-humor: 

"A  merry  life  and  a  jolly  life  is  the  life  for  you  and  me!" 

"I'll  make  life  merry  for  ye,  if  ye  come  into  this  yard 
ag'in,  you  whiffle-headed  dog-vane,  you!"  the  Cap'n 
squalled  after  him.  But  Brackett  again  struck  up  his 
roundelay: 

"There  was  old  Hip  Huff,  who  went  by  freight 
To  Newry  Corner,  in  this  State. 
Put  him  in  a  crate  to  git  him  there, 
With  a  two-cent  stamp  to  pay  his  fare. 
Rowl  de  fang-go — old  Smith's  mare." 

The  Cap'n  hopped  into  the  house  and  set  his  foot  again 
on  the  cricket  that  his  wife  brought  dutifully.  He  gritted 
his  teeth  as  long  as  the  voice  of  the  singer  came  to  his  ears. 

"I  wish  you  hadn't,"  mourned  his  wife;  "he's  as  good- 
meaning  a  man  as  there  is  in  town,  even  if  he  is  a  little  light 
headed.  He's  always  given  me  good  trades,  and  his  st'il- 
yards  don't  cheat  on  rags." 

The  old  mariner  was  evidently  preparing  a  stinging  reply, 
but  a  knock  on  the  door  interrupted  him.  Louada  Murilla 
admitted  three  men,  who  marched  in  solemnly,  one  behind 
the  other,  all  beaming  with  great  cordiality.  Cap'n  Sproul, 
not  yet  out  of  the  doldrums,  simply  glowered  and  grunted 
as  they  took  seats. 

50 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Then  one  of  them,  whom  Sproul  knew  as  Ludelphus 
Murray,  the  local  blacksmith,  arose  and  cleared  his  throat 
with  ominous  formality. 

"It's  best  to  hammer  while  the  iron  is  hot,  Cap'n,"  he 
said.  "It  won't  take  many  clips  o'  the  tongue  to  tell  you 
what  we've  come  for.  We  three  here  are  a  committee  from 
the  Smyrna  Ancient  and  Honer'ble  Firemen's  Association 
to  notify  you  that  at  a  meetin'  last  ev'nin'  you  was  unani 
mously  elected  a  member  of  that  organization,  and — " 

"Oh,  Aaron!"  cried  Louada  Murilla,  ecstatically.  "How 
glad  I  am  this  honor  has  been  given  to  you!  My  own  father 
belonged." 

"And,"  continued  Murray,  with  a  satisfied  smile,  and 
throwing  back  his  shoulders  as  one  who  brings  great  tidings, 
"it  has  been  realized  for  a  long  time  that  there  ain't  been 
the  discipline  in  the  association  that  there  ought  to  be.  We 
have  now  among  us  in  our  midst  one  who  has  commanded 
men  and  understands  how  to  command  men;  one  who  has 
sailed  the  ragin'  deep  in  times  of  danger,  and — and,  well, 
a  man  that  understands  how  to  go  ahead  and  take  the  lead 
in  tittlish  times.  So  the  association" — he  took  a  long 
breath — "has  elected  you  foreman,  and  I  hereby  hand  you 
notice  of  the  same  and  the  book  of  rules." 

The  Cap'n  scowled  and  put  his  hand  behind  the  rocking- 
chair  in  which  he  was  seated. 

"Not  by  a  —  "  he  began,  but  Murray  went  on  with 
cheerful  explanation. 

"I  want  to  say  to  you  that  this  association  is  over  a  hun 
dred  years  old,  and  our  hand  tub,  the  'Hecla,'  is  ninety- 
seven  years  old,  and  has  took  more  prizes  squirtin'  at  musters 
than  any  other  tub  in  the  State.  We  ain't  had  many  fires 
ever  in  Smyrna,  but  the  Ancients  take  the  leadin'  rank  in 
5  51 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

all  social  events,  and  our  dances  and  banquets  are  patronized 
by  the  best." 

"It's  an  awful  big  honor,  Aaron,"  gasped  his  wife.  She 
turned  to  the  committee.  "The  Cap'n  hasn't  been  feelin' 
well,  gentlemen,  and  this  honor  has  kind  of  overcome  him. 
But  I  know  he  appreciates  it.  My  own  father  was  foreman 
once,  and  it's  a  wonderful  thing  to  think  that  my  husband 
is  now." 

''Tain't  likely  that  the  Ancients  will  ever  forgit  them 
dinners  we  had  here,  Mis'  Sproul,"  remarked  one  of  the 
men, 'suffling'  the  moisture  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 

"Seein*  that  you  ain't  well,  we  don't  expect  no  speech, 
Cap'n,"  said  Murray,  laying  the  documents  upon  Sproul's 
knee.  "I  see  that  the  honor  has  overcome  you,  as  it 
nat'rally  might  any  man.  We  will  now  take  our  leave  with 
a  very  good-day,  and  wishin'  you  all  of  the  best,  yours  truly, 
and  so  forth."  He  backed  away,  and  the  others  rose. 

"Pass  through  the  kitchen,  gentlemen,"  said  Mrs.  Sproul, 
eagerly.  "I  will  set  out  a  treat."  They  trudged  that  way 
with  deep  bows  at  the  threshold  to  their  newly  drafted  fore 
man,  who  still  glared  at  them  speechlessly. 

When  Mrs.  Sproul  returned  at  length,  still  fluttering  in 
her  excitement,  he  was  reading  the  little  pamphlet  that  had 
been  left  with  him,  a  brick-red  color  slowly  crawling  up  the 
back  of  his  neck. 

"Just  think  of  it  for  an  honor,  Aaron,"  she  stammered, 
"and  you  here  in  town  only  such  a  little  while!  Oh,  I  am 
so  proud  of  you!  Mr.  Murray  brought  the  things  in  his 
team  and  left  them  on  the  piazza.  I'll  run  and  get  them." 

She  spread  them  on  the  sitting-room  floor,  kneeling  before 
him  like  a  priestess  offering  sacrifice.  With  his  thumb  in 
the  pamphlet,  he  stared  at  the  array. 

52 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

There  was  a  battered  leather  hat  with  a  broad  apron,  or 
scoop,  behind  to  protect  the  back.  On  a  faded  red  shield 
above  the  visor  was  the  word  "Foreman."  There  were  two 
equally  battered  leather  buckets.  There  was  a  dented 
speaking-trumpet.  These  the  Cap'n  dismissed  one  by  one 
with  an  impatient  scowl.  But  he  kicked  at  one  object  with 
his  well  foot. 

"What's  that  infernal  thing?"  he  demanded. 

"A  bed-wrench,  Aaron.  It's  to  take  apart  corded  beds 
so  as  to  get  them  out  of  houses  that  are  on  fire.  There 
aren't  hardly  any  corded  beds  now,  of  course,  but  it's  a  very 
old  association  that  you're  foreman  of,  and  the  members 
keep  the  old  things.  It's  awfully  nice  to  do  so,  I  think. 
It's  like  keeping  the  furniture  in  old  families.  And  that 
big  bag  there,  with  the  puckerin'- string  run  around  it, 
is  the  bag  to  put  china  and  valuables  into  and  lug 
away." 

"And  your  idee  of  an  honor,  is  it,"  he  sneered,  "is  that 
I'm  goin'  to  put  that  dingbusset  with  a  leather  back-fin  onto 
my  head  and  grab  up  them  two  leather  swill-pails  and  stick 
that  iron  thing  there  under  my  arm  and  grab  that  puckering- 
string  bag  in  my  teeth  and  start  tophet-te-larrup  over  this 
town  a-chasin'  fires  ?  Say — "  but  his  voice  choked,  and  he 
began  to  read  once  more  the  pamphlet.  The  red  on  the 
back  of  his  neck  grew  deeper. 

At  last  the  explosion  occurred. 

"Louada  Murilla  Sproul,  do  you  mean  to  say  that  you've 
had  this  thing  in  your  fam'ly  once,  and  was  knowin'  what 
it  meant,  and  then  let  them  three  Shanghaiers  come  in 
here  and  shove  this  bloodsucker  bus'ness  onto  me,  and  git 
away  all  safe  and  sound  ?  I  had  been  thinkin'  that  your 
Todds  and  Wards  was  spreadin'  some  sail  for  villuns,  but 

53 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

they're  only  moskeeters  to  Barb'ry  pirates  compared  with 
this." 

He  cuffed  his  hand  against  the  open  pages  of  the  pamphlet. 

"It  says  here  that  the  foreman  has  to  set  up  a  free  dinner 
for  'em  four  times  a  year  and  ev'ry  holiday.  It  says  that 
the  foreman  is  fined  two  dollars  for  ev'ry  monthly  meetin' 
that  he  misses,  other  members  ten  cents.  He's  fined  ten 
dollars  for  ev'ry  fire  that  he  isn't  at,  other  members  a  quarter 
of  a  dollar.  He's  fined  one  dollar  for  ev'ry  time  he's  ketched 
without  his  hat,  buckets,  bag,  and  bed-wrench  hung  in  his 
front  hall  where  they  belong,  other  members  ten  cents. 
And  he's  taxed  a  quarter  of  the  whole  expenses  of  gittin' 
to  firemen's  muster  and  back.  Talk  about  lettin'  blood 
with  a  gimlet!  Why,  they're  after  me  with  a  pod-auger!" 

All  the  afternoon  he  read  the  little  book,  cuffed  it,  and 
cursed.  He  snapped  up  Louada  Murilla  with  scant  cour 
tesy  when  she  tried  to  give  him  the  history  of  Smyrna's 
most  famous  organization,  and  timorously  represented  to 
him  the  social  eminence  he  had  attained. 

"It  isn't  as  though  you  didn't  have  money,  and  plenty  of 
it,"  she  pleaded.  "You  can't  get  any  more  good  out  of  it 
than  by  spending  it  that  way.  I  tell  you,  Aaron,  it  isn't  to 
be  sneezed  at,  leading  all  the  grand  marches  at  the  Ancients' 
dances  and  being  boss  of  'em  all  at  the  muster,  with  the 
band  a-playin'  and  you  leading  'em  right  up  the  middle  of 
the  street.  It's  worth  it,  Aaron — and  I  shall  be  so  proud 
of  you!" 

He  grumbled  less  angrily  the  next  morning.  But  he  still 
insisted  that  he  didn't  propose  to  let  the  consolidated  Todds 
and  Wards  of  Smyrna  bunco  him  into  taking  the  position, 
and  said  that  he  should  attend  the  next  meeting  of  the 
Ancients  and  resign. 

54 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

But  when,  on  the  third  evening  after  his  election,  the 
enthusiastic  members  of  the  Smyrna  A.  &  H.  F.  A.  came 
marching  up  from  the  village,  the  brass  band  tearing  the  air 
into  ribbons  with  cornets  and  trombones,  his  stiff  resolve 
wilted  suddenly.  He  began  to  grin  shamefacedly  under  his 
grizzled  beard,  and  hobbled  out  onto  the  porch  and  made 
them  a  stammering  speech,  and  turned  scarlet  with  pride 
when  they  cheered  him,  and  basked  in  the  glory  of  their 
compliments,  and  thrilled  when  they  respectfully  called 
him  "Chief."  He  even  told  Louada  Murilla  that  she  was 
a  darling,  when  she,  who  had  been  forewarned,  produced 
a  "treat"  from  a  hiding-place  in  the  cellar. 

"I  knew  you'd  appreciate  it  all  as  soon  as  you  got  wonted 
to  the  honor,  Aaron,"  she  whispered,  happy  tears  in  her  eyes. 
"It's  the  social  prominence — that's  all  there  is  to  it.  There 
hasn't  been  a  fire  in  the  town  for  fifteen  years,  and  you 
aren't  going  to  be  bothered  one  mite.  Oh,  isn't  that  band 
just  lovely  ?" 

The  Cap'n  went  to  bed  late  that  night,  his  ears  tingling 
with  the  adulation  of  the  multitude,  and  in  his  excited 
insomnia  understanding  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  the 
words:  "Uneasy  lies  the  head  that  wears  a  crown."  He 
realized  more  fully  now  that  his  shipmaster  days  had  given 
him  a  taste  for  command,  and  that  he  had  come  into  his 
own  again. 


VI 

I  HE  new  chief  of  the  Ancients  devoted  the  first 
hours  of  the  next  morning  to  the  arrangement 
of  his  fire-fighting  gear  in  the  front  hall,  and 
when  all  the  items  had  been  suspended,  so 
that  they  would  be  ready  to  his  hand  as  well 
as  serve  as  ornament,  he  went  out  on  the  porch  and  sunned 
himself,  revelling  in  a  certain  snug  and  contented  sense  of 
importance,  such  as  he  hadn't  felt  since  he  had  stepped 
down  from  the  quarter-deck  of  his  own  vessel.  He  even 
gazed  at  the  protruding  and  poignant  centre  of  that  rose  on 
his  carpet  slipper  with  milder  eyes,  and  sniffed  aromatic 
whiffs  of  liniment  with  appreciation  of  its  invigorating  odor. 
It  was  a  particularly  peaceful  day.  From  his  porch  he 
could  view  a  wide  expanse  of  rural  scenery,  and,  once  in  a 
while,  a  flash  of  sun  against  steel  marked  the  location  of 
some  distant  farmer  in  his  fields.  There  were  no  teams  in 
sight  on  the  highway,  for  the  men  of  Smyrna  were  too  busily 
engaged  on  their  acres.  He  idly  watched  a  trail  of  dun 
smoke  that  rose  from  behind  a  distant  ridge  and  zigzagged 
across  the  blue  sky.  He  admired  it  as  a  scenic  attraction, 
without  attaching  any  importance  to  it.  Even  when  a 
woman  appeared  on  the  far-off  ridge  and  flapped  her  apron 
and  hopped  up  and  down  and  appeared  to  be  frantically 
signalling  either  the  village  in  the  valley  or  the  men  in  the 
fields,  he  only  squinted  at  her  through  the  sunlight  and  won- 

56 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

dered  what  ailed  her.  A  sudden  inspiring  thought  sug 
gested  that  perhaps  she  had  struck  a  hornets'  nest.  He 
chuckled. 

A  little  later  a  ballooning  cloud  of  dust  came  rolling 
down  the  road  toward  him  and  the  toll-bridge  that  led 
to  Smyrna  village.  He  noted  that  the  core  of  the  cloud  was 
a  small  boy,  running  so  hard  that  his  knees  almost  knocked 
under  his  chin.  He  spun  to  a  halt  in  front  of  the  Cap'n's 
gate  and  gasped: 

"Fi-ah,  fi-ah,  fi-ah-h-h-h,  Chief!  Ben  Ide's  house  is 
a-fi-ah.  I'll  holler  it  in  the  village  and  git  'em  to  ring  the 
bell  and  start  'Hecla.'"  Away  he  tore. 

"Fire!"  bawled  Cap'n  Aaron,  starting  for  the  front  hall 
with  a  scuff,  a  hop,  a  skip,  and  jump,  in  order  to  favor  his 
sprained  toe.  "Fire  over  to  Ben  Ide's!" 

He  had  his  foreman's  hat  on  wrong  side  to  when  his  wife 
came  bursting  out  of  the  sitting-room  into  the  hall.  She, 
loyal  though  excited  lady  of  the  castle,  shifted  her  knight's 
helmet  to  the  right-about  and  stuffed  his  buckets,  bag,  and 
bed-wrench  into  his  hands.  The  cord  of  his  speaking- 
trumpet  she  slung  over  his  neck. 

"I  helped  get  father  ready  once,  twenty  years  ago,"  she 
stuttered,  "and  I  haven't  forgot!  Oh,  Aaron,  I  wish  you 
hadn't  got  such  a  prejudice  against  owning  a  horse  and 
against  Marengo  when  he  tried  to  sell  you  that  one.  Now 
you've  got  to  wait  till  some  one  gives  you  a  lift.  You  can't 
go  on  that  foot  to  Ide's." 

"Hoss!"  he  snorted.  "Marengo!  What  he  tried  to  sell 
me  would  be  a  nice  thing  to  git  to  a  fire  with!  Spavined 
wusser'n  a  carpenter's  saw-hoss,  and  with  heaves  like  a 
gasoline  dory!  I  can  hop  there  on  one  foot  quicker'n  he 
could  trot  that  hoss  there!  But  I'll  git  there.  I'll  git  there!" 

57 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

He  went  limping  out  of  the  door,  loaded  with  his  equip- 
ment. 

The  Methodist  bell  had  not  begun  to  ring,  and  it  was 
evident  that  the  messenger  of  ill  tidings  had  not  pattered 
into  the  village  as  yet. 

But  there  was  a  team  in  sight.  It  was  "Balm  o'  Joy" 
Brackett,  his  arms  akimbo  as  he  fished  on  the  reins  to  hurry 
his  horse.  He  was  coming  from  the  direction  of  the  toll- 
bridge,  and  had  evidently  met  the  boy. 

"I've  got  my  lo'd — I've  got  my  lo'd,  but  I'll  leave  behind 
me  all  o'  the  ro'd,"  he  chirped,  when  the  Cap'n  went  plung 
ing  toward  him  with  the  evident  intention  of  getting  on 
board. 

"I'm  foreman  of  the  Ancients,"  roared  the  Cap'n,  "and 
I  have  the  right  to  press  into  service  any  craft  I  see  passin'. 
Take  me  aboard,  I  say,  dumblast  ye!" 

"This  ain't  no  high  seas,"  retorted  Brackett,  trying  to 
lick  past.  "You  can  drive  gents  out  of  your  dooryard,  but 
you  can't  do  no  press-gang  bus'ness  on  'em." 

It  was  apparent  that  even  "Balm  o'  Joy's"  bland  nature 
could  entertain  resentment. 

'  'Tain't  right  to  lay  up  grudges  ag'inst  a  man  that  was 
fussed  up  like  I  was,  Mister  Brackett,"  pleaded  the  Cap'n, 
hopping  along  beside  the  van.  "I've  got  to  git  to  that  fire, 
I  tell  you.  I'm  the  foreman!  I'll  use  you  right,  after  this. 
I  will,  I  tell  you.  Lemme  on  board." 

"Promus'  flies  high  when  it's  hot  and  dry!"  twittered  the 
peddler,  still  cheerful  but  obstinate. 

"I'll  give  ye  five  dollars  to  take  me  to  Ben  Ide's — ten!" 
he  roared,  when  Brackett  showed  no  sign  of  stopping. 

"Promus'  on  the  ground  can  be  better  found.  Whoa!" 
cried  Brackett,  promptly.  "I'll  take  the  fare  before  you 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

climb  up!  You'll  be  so  busy  when  you  git  to  the  fire  that 
I  wouldn't  want  to  bother  you  then." 

The  Cap'n  glowered  but  chewed  his  lips  to  prevent  retort, 
pulled  his  wallet,  and  paid.  Then  he  gathered  his  appara 
tus  and  grunted  up  to  the  high  seat. 

Far  behind  them  the  excited  clang-clang  of  the  Methodist 
bell  was  pealing  its  first  alarm. 

"By  the  time  they  git  bosses  up  out  of  the  fields  and 
hitched  onto  'Hecla,'  and  git  their  buckets  and  didoes  and 
git  started,  I  reckon  things  will  be  fried  on  both  sides  at 
Ben  Ide's,"  chatted  the  peddler. 

"Lick  up!  Lick  up!"  barked  the  Cap'n.  "I'm  payin' 
for  a  quick  ride  and  not  conversation." 

Brackett  clapped  the  reins  along  his  nag's  skinny  flank, 
set  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  and  began: 

"There  was  old  Hip  Huff,  who  went  by  freight, 
To  Newry  Corner,  in — " 

"LufF,  luff!"  snorted  the  Cap'n,  in  disgust. 

"Luff,  luff?"  queried  the  songster. 

"Yes,  luff!  Avast!  Belay!  Heave  to!  I  don't  like 
caterwaulin'.  You  keep  your  mind  right  on  drivin'  that 
hoss." 

"You  must  have  been  a  pop'lar  man  all  your  life,"  re 
marked  the  peddler,  with  a  baleful  side-glance.  "Does 
politeness  come  nat'ral  to  you,  or  did  you  learn  it  out  of  a 
book  ?" 

The  Cap'n  made  no  reply.  He  only  hitched  himself  for 
ward  as  though  trying  to  assist  the  momentum  of  the  cart, 
and  clutched  his  buckets,  one  in  each  hand. 

A  woman  came  flying  out  of  the  first  house  they  passed 
and  squalled: 

59 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"Where's  the  fire,  Mr.  Brackett,  and  is  anybody  burnt  up, 
and  hadn't  you  jest  as  liv'  take  my  rags  now  ?  I've  got  'em 
all  sacked  and  ready  to  weigh,  and  I  sha'n't  be  to  home 
after  to-day." 

Brackett  pulled  up. 

"Blast  your  infernal  pelt,"  howled  the  Cap'n,  "you  drive 
on!" 

"Bus'ness  is  bus'ness,"  muttered  the  peddler,  "and  you 
ain't  bought  me  and  my  team  with  that  little  old  ten  dollars 
of  yourn,  and  you  can't  do  northin',  anyway,  till  Hecla  gits 
there  with  the  boys,  and  when  you're  there  I  don't  see  what 
you're  goin'  to  amount  to  with  that  sore  toe." 

He  was  clearly  rebellious.  Cap'n  Sproul  had  touched  the 
tenderest  spot  in  T.  W.  Brackett's  nature  by  that  savage  yelp 
at  his  vocal  efforts.  But  the  chief  of  the  Ancients  had  been 
wounded  as  cruelly  in  his  own  pride.  He  stood  up  and 
swung  a  bucket  over  the  crouching  peddler. 

"Drive  on,  you  lubber,"  he  howled,  "or  I'll  peg  you  down 
through  that  seat  like  I'd  drive  a  tack.  Drive  on!" 

Brackett  ducked  his  head  and  drove.  And  the  Cap'n, 
summoning  all  the  resources  of  a  vocabulary  enriched  by  a 
sea  experience  of  thirty  years,  yelled  at  him  and  his  horse 
without  ceasing. 

When  they  topped  the  ridge  they  were  in  full  view  of  Ide's 
doomed  buildings,  and  saw  the  red  tongues  of  flame  curling 
through  the  rolling  smoke. 

But  a  growing  clamor  behind  made  the  Chief  crane  his 
neck  and  gaze  over  the  top  of  the  van. 

"Hecla"  was  coming! 

Four  horses  were  dragging  it,  and  two-score  men  were 
howling  along  with  it,  some  riding,  but  the  most  of  them 
clinging  to  the  brake-beams  and  slamming  along  through 

60 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

the  dust  on  foot.  A  man,  perched  beside  the  driver,  was 
bellowing  something  through  a  trumpet  that  sounded  like: 

"  Goff-off-errow,  goff-off-errow,  goff-off-errow!" 

The  peddler  was  driving  sullenly,  and  without  any  par 
ticular  enterprise.  But  this  tumult  behind  made  his  horse 
prick  up  his  ears  and  snort.  When  the  nag  mended  his  pace 
and  began  to  lash  out  with  straddling  legs,  the  Cap'n  yelled: 

"Let  him  go!  Let  him  go!  They  want  us  to  get  off  the 
road!" 

"Goff-off-errow!"  the  man  still  bellowed  through  the 
trumpet. 

"I've  got  goods  that  will  break  and  I'll  be  cuss-fired  if  I'll 
break  'em  for  you  nor  the  whole  Smyrna  Fire  Department!" 
screamed  Brackett;  but  when  he  tried  to  pull  up  his  steedj, 
the  Cap'n,  now  wholly  beside  himself  and  intent  only  on 
unrestricted  speed,  banged  a  leather  bucket  down  across  the 
driver's  hands. 

Brackett  dropped  the  reins,  with  a  yell  of  pain,  and  they 
fell  into  the  dust  and  dragged.  The  horse  broke  into  a 
bunchy,  jerky  gallop,  and  lunged  down  the  hill,  the  big  van 
swaying  wildly  with  an  ominous  rattling  and  crashing  in  its 
mysterious  interior. 

There  were  teams  coming  along  a  cross-road  ahead  of 
them  and  teams  rattling  from  the  opposite  direction  toward 
the  fire,  approaching  along  the  highway  they  were  travelling. 
Collisions  seemed  inevitable.  But  in  a  moment  of  inspira 
tion  the  Cap'n  grabbed  the  trumpet  that  hung  from  its  red 
cord  around  his  neck  and  began  to  bellow  in  his  turn: 

"Goff-off-errow,  goff-off-errow!"  It  was  as  nearly  as 
human  voice  could  phrase  "Get  off  the  road"  through  the 
thing. 

The  terrifying  bulk  of  the  big  van  cleared  the  way  ahead, 

61 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

even  though  people  desperately  risked  tip-ups  in  the  gutter. 
As  it  tore  along,  horses  climbed  fences  with  heads  and  tails 
up.  There  were  men  floundering  in  bushes  and  women 
squalling  from  the  tops  of  rock-heaps. 

The  Chief  of  the  Ancients  did  not  halt  to  attend  to  his 
duties  at  the  fire.  He  went  howling  past  on  the  high  seat 
of  the  van,  over  the  next  ridge  and  out  of  sight. 

"We're  goin'  to  tophet,  and  you  done  it,  and  you've  got 
to  pay  for  it,"  Brackett  wailed  over  and  over,  bobbing  about 
on  the  seat.  But  the  Cap'n  did  not  reply.  Teams  kept 
coming  into  sight  ahead,  and  he  had  thought  only  for  his 
monotonous  bellow  of  "Goff-ofF-errow!" 

Disaster — the  certain  disaster  that  they  had  despairingly 
accepted — met  them  at  the  foot  of  Rines'  hill,  two  miles 
beyond  Ide's.  The  road  curved  sharply  there  to  avoid  "the 
Pugwash,"  as  a  particularly  mushy  and  malodorous  bog 
was  called  in  local  terminology. 

At  the  foot  of  the  hill  the  van  toppled  over  with  a  crash 
and  anchored  the  steaming  horse,  already  staggering  in  his 
exhaustion.  Both  men  had  scrambled  to  the  top  of  the  van, 
ready  to  jump  into  the  Pugwash  as  they  passed.  The  Cap'n 
still  carried  his  equipment,  both  buckets  slung  upon  one 
arm,  and  even  in  this  imminent  peril  it  never  occurred  to 
him  to  drop  them.  Lucky  fate  made  their  desperate  leap 
for  life  a  tame  affair.  When  the  van  toppled  they  were 
tossed  over  the  roadside  into  the  bog,  lighted  on  their  hands 
and  knees,  and  sank  slowly  into  its  mushiness  like  two  Brob- 
dingnagian  frogs. 

It  was  another  queer  play  of  fate  that  the  next  passer  was 
Marengo  Todd,  whipping  his  way  to  the  fire  behind  a  horse 
that  had  a  bit  of  wire  pinched  over  his  nose  to  stifle  his 
"whistling." 

62 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Marengo  Todd  leaped  out  and  presented  the  end  of  a 
fence-rail  to  Brackett  first,  and  pulled  him  out. 

When  he  stuck  the  end  of  the  rail  under  the  Gap'n's  nose 
the  Cap'n  pushed  it  away  with  mud-smeared  hands. 

"I  don't,  myself,  nuss  grudges  in  times  of  distress,  Cap 
Sproul,"  shouted  Todd.  "You  kicked  me.  I  know  that. 
But  you  was  in  the  wrong,  and  you  got  the  wu'st  of  it. 
Proverdunce  has  allus  settled  my  grudges  for  me  in  jest  that 
way.  I  forgive  and  pass  on,  but  Proverdunce  don't.  Take 
that  fence-rail.  It  sha'n't  ever  be  said  by  man  that  Marengo 
Todd  nussed  a  grudge." 

When  the  Cap'n  was  once  more  on  solid  ground,  Todd, 
still  iterating  his  forgiveness  of  past  injuries,  picked  up  a  tin 
pie-plate  that  had  been  jarred  out  of  the  van  among  other 
litter,  and  began  to  scrape  the  black  mud  off  the  foreman  of 
the  Ancients  in  as  matter-of-fact  a  way  as  though  he  were 
currycombing  a  horse. 

The  spirit  of  the  doughty  mariner  seemed  broken  at  last. 
He  looked  down  at  himself,  at  the  mud-clogged  buckets  and 
his  unspeakable  bedragglement. 

"I've  only  got  one  word  to  say  to  you  right  here  and  now, 
Cap'n,"  went  on  Todd,  meekly,  "and  it's  this,  that  no  man 
ever  gits  jest  where  he  wants  to  git,  unless  he  has  a  ree-li'ble 
hoss.  I've  tried  to  tell  you  so  before,  but — but,  well,  you 
didn't  listen  to  me  the  way  you  ought  to."  He  continued 
to  scrape,  and  the  Cap'n  stared  mutely  down  at  the  foot  that 
was  encased  in  a  muddy  slipper. 

"Now,  there's  a  hoss  standin'  there — "  pursued  Todd. 

"What  will  you  take  for  that  team  jest  as  it  stands?" 
blurted  the  mariner,  desperately.  The  fire,  the  smoke  of 
which  was  rolling  up  above  the  distant  tree-tops,  and  his 
duty  there  made  him  reckless.  As  he  looked  down  on  Todd 

63 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

he  hadn't  the  heart  to  demand  of  that  meek  and  injured  per 
son  that  he  should  forget  and  forgive  sufficiently  to  take  him 
in  and  put  him  down  at  Ide's.  It  seemed  like  crowding  the 
mourners.  Furthermore,  Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul  was  not  a 
man  who  traded  in  humble  apologies.  His  independence 
demanded  a  different  footing  with  Todd,  and  the  bitter  need 
of  the  moment  eclipsed  economy.  "Name  your  price!" 

"A  hundred  and  thutty,  ev'rything  throwed  in,  and  I'll 
drive  you  there  a  mile  a  minit,"  gasped  Todd,  grasping  the 
situation. 

With  muddy  hands,  trembling  in  haste,  the  Cap'n  drew 
his  long,  fat  wallet  and  counted  out  the  bills.  Brackett  eyed 
him  hungrily. 

"You  might  jest  as  well  settle  with  me  now  as  later 
through  the  law,"  he  cried. 

But  the  Cap'n  butted  him  aside,  with  an  oath,  and 
climbed  into  the  wagon. 

"You  drive  as  though  the  devil  had  kicked  ye,"  he  yelled 
to  Todd.  "It's  my  hoss,  and  I  don't  care  if  you  run  the 
four  legs  ofF'm  him." 

Half-way  to  Ide's,  a  man  leaped  the  roadside  fence  and 
jumped  up  and  down  before  them  in  the  highway.  He  had 
a  shotgun  in  his  hands. 

"It's  my  brother — Voltaire,"  shouted  Marengo,  pulling 
up,  though  Cap'n  Sproul  swore  tempestuously.  "You've 
got  to  take  him  on.  He  b'longs  to  your  fire  comp'ny." 

"I  was  out  huntin'  when  I  heard  the  bell,"  bellowed  the 
new  passenger,  when  he  had  scrambled  to  a  place  behind  the 
wagon-seat,  his  back  toward  them  and  his  legs  hanging 
down.  "I'm  fu'st  hoseman,  and  it's  lucky  you  came  along 
and  giv'  me  a  lift."  He  set  his  gun-butt  down  between  his 
knees,  the  muzzle  pointing  up. 

64 


THE    SKIPPER    AND    THE    SKIPPED 

Cap'n  Sproul  had  his  teeth  set  hard  upon  a  hank  of  his 
grizzled  whiskers,  and  his  eyes  on  the  smoke  ahead.  Todd 
ran  his  wheezing  horse  up  the  ridge,  and  when  they  topped 
it  they  beheld  the  whole  moving  scene  below  them. 

Men  were  running  out  of  the  burning  house,  throwing 
armfuls  of  goods  right  and  left.  The  "Hecla"  was  a-strad- 
dle  of  the  well,  and  rows  of  men  were  tossing  at  her  brake- 
beams. 

"Give  her  tar,  give  her  tar!"  yelled  the  man  behind,  cran 
ing  his  thin  neck.  Todd  lashed  at  the  horse  and  sent  him 
running  down  the  slope.  At  the  foot  of  the  declivity,  just 
before  they  came  to  the  lane  leading  into  Ide's  place,  there 
was  a  culvert  where  the  road  crossed  a  brook. 

The  boarding  in  the  culvert  made  a  jog  in  the  road,  and 
when  the  wagon  struck  this  at  top  speed  its  body  flipped 
behind  like  the  tongue  of  a  catapult. 

The  man  with  the  gun,  having  eyes  and  senses  only  for 
the  fire  and  his  toiling  fellow-Ancients,  was  unprepared. 
He  went  up,  out,  and  down  in  the  dust,  doggedly  clinging 
to  his  gun.  He  struck  the  ground  with  it  still  between  his 
knees.  The  impact  of  the  butt  discharged  both  barrels 
straight  into  the  air. 

Flanked  by  a  roaring  fire  and  howling  crowd,  and  bom 
barded  in  the  rear,  even  a  horse  with  a  bone  spavin  and  the 
heaves  will  exhibit  the  spirit  of  Bucephalus.  One  of  the 
rotten  reins  broke  at  Marengo's  first  terrified  tug.  In  less 
time  than  it  takes  to  tell,  Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul,  desperate  and 
beholding  only  one  resource — the  tail  flaunting  over  the 
dasher — seized  it  and  gave  a  seaman's  sturdy  pull.  The 
tail  came  away  in  his  hands  and  left  only  a  wildly  brandish 
ing  stump.  Even  in  that  moment  of  horror,  the  Cap'n  had 
eyes  to  see  and  wit  to  understand  that  this  false  tail  was 

65 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

more  of  Marengo  Todd's  horse-jockey  guile.  The  look  that 
he  turned  on  the  enterprising  doctor  of  caudal  baldness  was 
so  perfectly  diabolical  that  Marengo  chose  what  seemed  the 
lesser  of  two  evils.  He  precipitated  himself  over  the  back 
of  the  seat,  dropped  to  the  ground  as  lightly  as  a  cat,  ran 
wildly  until  he  lost  his  footing,  and  dove  into  some  wayside 
alders.  Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul  was  left  alone  with  his  newly 
acquired  property! 

When  he  hove  in  sight  of  his  own  house  he  saw  Louada 
Murilla  on  the  porch,  gazing  off  at  the  smoke  of  the  fire  and 
evidently  luxuriating  in  the  consciousness  that  it  was  her 
husband  who  was  that  day  leading  the  gallant  forces  of  the 
Ancients. 

As  he  stared  wildly,  home  seemed  his  haven  and  the  old 
house  his  rock  of  safety.  He  did  not  understand  enough 
about  the  vagaries  of  horses  and  wagons  to  appreciate  the 
risk.  One  rein  still  hung  over  the  dasher. 

"Only  one  jib  down-haul  left  of  all  the  riggin',"  he 
groaned,  and  then  grabbed  it  and  surged  on  it. 

The  horse  swung  out  of  the  road,  the  wagon  careering 
wildly  on  two  wheels.  Sproul  crossed  the  corner  of  some 
ploughed  land,  swept  down  a  length  of  picket-fence,  and  came 
into  his  own  lane,  up  which  the  horse  staggered,  near  the 
end  of  his  endurance.  The  wagon  swung  and  came  to  grief 
against  the  stone  hitching-post  at  the  corner  of  the  porch. 
Cap'n  Sproul,  encumbered  still  with  buckets  and  bag  and 
trumpet,  floundered  over  the  porch  rail,  through  a  tangled 
mass  of  woodbine  vines,  and  into  the  arms  of  his  distracted 
wife. 

For  five  minutes  after  she  had  supported  him  to  a  chair 
she  could  do  nothing  but  stare  at  him,  with  her  hands 
clasped  and  her  eyes  goggling,  and  cry,  "Aaron,  Aaron, 

66 


THE    SKIPPER    AND    THE    SKIPPED 

dear!"  in  crescendo.  His  sole  replies  to  her  were  hollow 
sounds  in  his  throat  that  sounded  like  "unk!" 

"Where  have  you  been  ?"  she  cried.  "All  gurry,  and  wet 
as  sop  ?  If  you  are  hurt  what  made  'em  let  their  Chief 
come  home  all  alone  with  that  wild  hoss  ?  Aaron,  can't 
you  speak  ?" 

He  only  flapped  a  muddy  hand  at  her,  and  seemed  to  be 
beyond  speech.  There  was  a  dull,  wondering  look  in  his 
eyes,  as  though  he  were  trying  to  figure  out  some  abstruse 
problem.  He  did  not  brighten  until  a  team  came  tearing 
up  to  the  gate,  and  a  man  with  a  scoop  fireman's  hat  on 
came  running  to  the  porch.  The  man  saluted. 

"Chief,"  he  said,  with  the  air  of  an  aide  reporting  on  the 
field  of  battle,  "that  house  and  barn  got  away  from  us,  but 
we  fit  well  for  'em — yas  s'r,  we  fit  well!  It  is  thought  queer 
in  some  quarters  that  you  wasn't  there  to  take  charge,  but 
I  told  the  boys  that  you'd  prob'ly  got  good  reasons,  and 
they'll  git  over  their  mad,  all  right.  You  needn't  worry 
none  about  that!" 

The  Cap'n's  sole  reply  was  another  of  those  hollow 
"unks!" 

"  But  the  boys  is  pretty  well  beat  out,  and  so  I've  run  over 
to  ask  if  you'll  let  us  use  your  ten-dollar  fine  for  a  treat  ? 
That  will  help  their  feelin's  to'ards  you  a  good  deal, 
and—" 

The  Cap'n,  without  taking  his  eyes  from  the  smug  face 
of  the  man,  swung  one  of  the  buckets  and  let  drive  at  him. 
It  missed.  But  he  had  got  his  range,  and  the  next  bucket 
knocked  off  the  scoop  hat.  When  the  Cap'n  scrambled  to 
his  feet,  loaded  with  the  bed-wrench  for  his  next  volley,  the 
man  turned  and  ran  for  his  team.  The  bed-wrench  caught 
him  directly  between  the  shoulders — a  masterly  shot.  The 
6  67 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

trumpet  flew  wild,  but  by  that  time  the  emissary  of  the 
Ancients  was  in  his  wagon  and  away. 

"Aaron!"  his  wife  began,  quaveringly,  but  the  Cap'n 
leaped  toward  her,  pulled  the  mouth  of  the  puckering-bag 
over  her  head,  and  hopped  into  the  house.  When  at  last 
she  ventured  to  peer  in  at  the  sitting-room  window,  he  was 
tearing  the  book  of  "Rules  of  the  Smyrna  Ancient  and  Hon 
orable  Firemen's  Association,"  using  both  his  hands  and 
his  teeth,  and  worrying  it  as  a  dog  worries  a  bone. 

That  was  his  unofficial  resignation.  The  official  one 
came  as  soon  as  he  could  control  his  language. 

And  for  a  certain,  prolonged  period  in  the  history  of  the 
town  of  Smyrna  it  was  well  understood  that  Cap'n  Aaron 
Sproul  was  definitely  out  of  public  affairs.  But  in  public 
affairs  it  often  happens  that  honors  that  are  elusive  when 
pursued  are  thrust  upon  him  who  does  not  seek  them. 


VII 

i  HE  moderator  of  the  Smyrna  town  meet 
ing  held  his  breath  for  just  a  moment  so 
as  to  accentuate  the  hush  in  which  the 
voters  listened  for  his  words,  and  then 
announced  the  result  of  the  vote  for  first 
selectman  of  Smyrna: 

"Whole  number  cast,  one  hundred  thutty-two;  necessary 
for  a  choice,  sixty-seven;  of  which  Colonel  Gideon  Ward  has 
thutty-one." 

A  series  of  barking,  derisive  yells  cut  in  upon  his  solemn 
announcement,  and  he  rapped  his  cane  on  the  marred  table 
of  the  town  hall  and  glared  over  his  spectacles  at  the 
voters. 

"And  Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul  has  one  hundred  and — " 
The  howl  that  followed  clipped  his  last  words.  Men 
hopped  upon  the  knife-nicked  settees  of  the  town  house  and 
waved  their  hats  while  they  hooted.  A  group  of  voters,  off 
at  one  side,  sat  and  glowered  at  this  hilarity.  Out  of  the 
group  rose  Colonel  Gideon,  his  long  frame  unfolding  with 
the  angularity  of  a  carpenter's  two-foot  rule.  There  were 
little  dabs  of  purple  on  his  knobby  cheek-bones.  His  hair 
and  his  beard  bristled.  He  put  up  his  two  fists  as  far  as  his 
arms  would  reach  and  vibrated  them,  like  a  furious  Jere 
miah  calling  down  curses. 

Such  ferocious  mien  had  its  effect  on  the  spectators  after 

69 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

a  time.     Smyrna  quailed  before  her  ancient  tyrant,  even 
though  he  was  dethroned. 

"Almighty  God  has  always  wanted  an  excuse  to  destroy 
this  town  like  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  was  destroyed,"  he 
shouted,  his  voice  breaking  into  a  squeal  of  rage;  "now  He's 
got  it." 

He  drove  his  pointed  cap  onto  his  head,  gave  a  parting 
shake  of  his  fists  that  embraced  moderator,  voters,  walls, 
floor,  roof,  and  all  appurtenances  of  the  town  house,  and 
stalked  down  the  aisle  and  out.  The  silence  in  town  meet 
ing  was  so  profound  that  the  voters  heard  him  welting  his 
horse  as  he  drove  away. 

After  a  time  the  moderator  drew  a  long  breath,  and  stated 
that  he  did  not  see  Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul  in  the  meeting,  and 
had  been  informed  that  he  was  not  present. 

"I  come  past  his  place  this  mornin',"  whispered  Old  Man 
Jordan  to  his  neighbor  on  the  settee,  "and  he  was  out 
shovelin'  snow  off'm  the  front  walk,  and  when  I  asked  him 
if  he  wa'n't  comin'  to  town  meetin',  he  said  that  a  run  of  the 
seven  years'  itch  and  the  scurvy  was  pretty  bad,  but  he 
reckoned  that  politics  was  wuss.  I  should  hate  to  be  the 
one  that  has  to  break  this  news  to  him." 

"And  seein'  how  it's  necessary  to  have  the  first  selectman 
here  to  be  sworn  in  before  the  meetin'  closes  this  afternoon," 
went  on  the  moderator,  "I'll  appoint  a  committee  of  three 
to  wait  on  Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul  and  notify  him  of  the  dis 
tinguished  honor  that  has  been  done  him  this  day  by  his 
feller  townsmen." 

He  settled  his  spectacles  more  firmly  upon  his  nose,  and 
ran  his  gaze  calculatingly  over  the  assembled  voters.  No 
one  of  those  patriotic  citizens  seemed  to  desire  to  be  obtru 
sive  at  that  moment. 

70 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"I'll  appoint  as  chairman  of  that  notifying  committee,'' 
proceeded  the  moderator,  "Entwistle  Harvey,  and  as — " 

"I  shall  have  to  decline  the  honor,"  interrupted  Mr. 
Entwistle  Harvey,  rising  promptly.  The  voters  grinned. 
They  thoroughly  understood  the  reason  for  Mr.  Harvey's 
reluctance. 

"It  ain't  that  I'm  any  less  a  reformer  than  the  others  that 
has  to-day  redeemed  this  town  from  ring  rule  and  bossism," 
declared  Mr.  Harvey,  amid  applause;  "it  ain't  that  I  don't 
admire  the  able  man  that  has  been  selected  to  lead  us  up  out 
of  the  vale  of  political  sorrow — and  I  should  be  proud  to 
stand  before  him  and  offer  this  distinguished  honor  from  the 
voters  of  this  town,  but  I  decline  because  I — I — well,  there 
ain't  any  need  of  goin'  into  personal  reasons.  I  ain't  the 
man  for  the  place,  that's  all."  He  sat  down. 

"I  don't  blame  him  none  for  duckin',"  murmured  Old 
Man  Jordan  to  his  seat  companion.  "Any  man  that  was 
in  the  crowd  that  coaxed  Cap'n  Sproul  into  takin'  the  fore- 
manship  of  Heckly  Fire  Comp'ny  has  got  a  good  excuse.  I 
b'lieve  the  law  says  that  ye  can't  put  a  man  twice  in  peril  of 
his  life." 

Cap'n  Sproul's  stormy  relinquishment  of  the  hateful 
honor  that  had  been  foisted  upon  him  by  the  Smyrna  fire 
fighters  was  history  recent  enough  to  give  piquant  relish  to 
the  present  situation.  He  had  not  withheld  nor  modified 
his  threats  as  to  what  would  happen  to  any  other  committee 
that  came  to  him  proffering  public  office. 

The  more  prudent  among  Smyrna's  voters  had  hesitated 
about  making  the  irascible  ex-mariner  a  candidate  for  select 
man's  berth. 

But  Smyrna,  in  its  placid  New  England  eddy,  had  felt  its 
own  little  thrill  from  the  great  tidal  wave  of  municipal  re- 

71 


THE    SKIPPER    AND    THE    SKIPPED 

form  sweeping  the  country.  It  immediately  gazed  askance 
at  Colonel  Gideon  Ward,  for  twenty  years  first  selectman  of 
Smyrna,  and  growled  under  its  breath  about  "bossism." 
But  when  the  search  was  made  for  a  candidate  to  run  against 
him,  Smyrna  men  were  wary.  Colonel  Ward  held  too  many 
mortgages  and  had  advanced  too  many  call  loans  not  to  be 
well  fortified  against  rivals. 

"The  only  one  who  has  ever  dared  to  twist  his  tail  is  his 
brother-in-law,  the  Cap'n,"  said  Odbar  Broadway,  oracu 
larly,  to  the  leaders  who  had  met  in  his  store  to  canvass  the 
political  situation.  "The  Cap'n  won't  be  as  supple  as  some 
in  town  office,  but  he  ain't  no  more  hell  'n'  repeat  than  what 
we've  been  used  to  for  the  last  twenty  years.  He's  wuth 
thutty  thousand  dollars,  and  Gid  Ward  can't  foreclose  no 
mo'gidge  on  him  nor  club  him  with  no  bill  o'  sale.  He's  the 
only  prominunt  man  in  town  that  can  afford  to  take  the 
office  away  from  the  Colonel.  What  ye've  got  to  do  is  to  go 
ahead  and  elect  him,  and  then  trust  to  the  Lord  to  make  him 
take  it." 

So  that  was  what  Smyrna  had  done  on  that  slushy  win 
ter's  day. 

It  did  it  with  secret  joy  and  with  ballots  hidden  in  its  palms, 
where  the  snapping  eyes  of  Colonel  Ward  could  not  spy. 

And  now,  instead  of  invoking  the  higher  power  men 
tioned  as  a  resource  by  Broadway,  the  moderator  of  the 
town  meeting  was  struggling  with  human  tools,  and  very 
rickety  human  tools  they  seemed  to  be. 

Five  different  chairmen  did  he  nominate,  and  with,  great 
alacrity  the  five  refused  to  serve. 

The  moderator  took  off  his  glasses,  and  testily  rapped  the 
dented  table. 

"Feller  citizens,"  he  snapped,  "this  is  gittin'  to  be  boys' 

72 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

play.  I  realize  puffickly  that  Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul,  our  first 
selectman-elect,  has  not  been  a  seeker  after  public  office 
since  he  retired  as  foreman  of  the  Hecla  Fire  Company.  I 
realize  puffickly  that  he  entertained  some  feelin'  at  the  time 
that — that — he  wasn't  exactly  cal'lated  to  be  foreman  of  an 
engine  company.  But  that  ain't  sayin'  that  he  won't  receive 
like  gentlemen  the  committee  that  comes  to  tell  him  that  he 
has  been  elected  to  the  highest  office  in  this  town.  I  ain't 
got  any  more  time  to  waste  on  cowards.  There's  one  man 
here  that  ain't  afraid  of  his  own  shadder.  I  call  on  Con 
stable  Zeburee  Nute  to  head  the  committee,  and  take  along 
with  him  Constables  Wade  and  Swanton.  And  I  want  to 
say  to  the  voters  here  that  it's  a  nice  report  to  go  abroad 
from  this  town  that  we  have  to  pick  from  the  police  force  to 
get  men  with  enough  courage  to  tell  a  citizen  that  he's  been 
elected  first  selectman.  But  the  call  has  gone  out  for  Cin- 
cinnatus,  and  he  must  be  brought  here." 

The  moderator's  tone  was  decisive  and  his  mien  was 
stern.  Otherwise,  even  the  doughty  Constable  Nute  might 
have  refused  to  take  orders,  though  they  were  given  in  the 
face  and  eyes  of  his  admiring  neighbors.  He  gnawed  at  his 
grizzled  beard  and  fingered  doubtfully  the  badge  that,  as 
chief  constable  of  the  town,  he  wore  on  the  outside  of  his 
coat. 

"Gents  of  the  committee,  please  'tend  promptly  to  the 
duties  assigned,"  commanded  the  moderator,  "and  we  will 
pass  on  to  the  next  article  in  the  town  warrant." 

Mr.  Nute  rose  slowly  and  marched  out  of  the  hall,  the 
other  two  victims  following  without  any  especial  signs  of 
enthusiasm. 

In  the  yard  of  the  town  house  Mr.  Nute  faced  them,  and 
remarked: 

73 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"I  have  some  ideas  of  my  own  as  to  a  genteel  way  of 
gittin'  him  interested  in  this  honor  that  we  are  about  to  be 
stow.  Has  any  one  else  ideas  ?" 

The  other  two  constables  shook  their  heads  gloomily. 

"Then  I'll  take  the  brunt  of  the  talk  on  me  and  foller  my 
ideas,"  announced  Mr.  Nute.  "I've  been  studyin'  reform, 
and,  furthermore,  I  know  who  Cincinnatus  was!" 

The  three  men  unhitched  each  his  own  team,  and  drove 
slowly,  in  single  file,  along  the  mushy  highway. 

It  was  one  of  Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul's  mentally  mild,  mel 
low,  and  benign  days,  when  his  heart  seemed  to  expand  like 
a  flower  in  the  comforts  of  his  latter-life  domestic  bliss. 
Never  had  home  seemed  so  good — never  the  little  flush  on 
Louada  Murilla's  cheeks  so  attractive  in  his  eyes  as  they 
dwelt  fondly  on  her. 

In  the  night  he  had  heard  the  sleet  clattering  against  the 
pane  and  the  snow  slishing  across  the  clapboards,  and  he 
had  turned  on  his  pillow  with  a  little  grunt  of  thankfulness. 

"There's  things  about  dry  land  and  the  people  on  it  that 
ain't  so  full  of  plums  as  a  sailor's  duff  ought  to  be,"  he 
mused,  "but —  And  then  he  dozed  off,  listening  to  the 
wind. 

In  the  morning,  just  for  a  taste  of  rough  weather,  he  had 
put  on  his  slicker  and  sea-boots  and  shovelled  the  slush  off 
the  front  walk.  Then  he  sat  down  with  stockinged  feet 
held  in  the  radiance  of  an  open  Franklin  stove,  and  mused 
over  some  old  log-books  that  he  liked  to  thumb  occasionally 
for  the  sake  of  adding  new  comfort  to  a  fit  of  shore  content 
ment. 

This  day  he  was  taking  especial  interest  in  the  log-books, 
for  he  was  again  collaborating  with  Louada  Murilla  in  that 
spasmodic  literary  effort  that  she  had  termed: 

74 


THE    SKIPPER    AND    THE    SKIPPED 

FROM   SHORE   TO   SHORE 

LINES    FROM    A    MARINER'S    ADVENTURES 

The  Life   Story   of  the  Gallant  Captain   Aaron   Sproul 

Written   by  His  Affectionate  Wife 

"You  can  put  down  what's  true,"  he  said,  continuing  a 
topic  that  they  had  been  pursuing,  "that  boxin'  the  compass 
and  knowin'  a  jib  down-haul  from  a  pound  of  saleratus  ain't 
all  there  is  to  a  master  mariner's  business,  not  by  a  blamed 
sight.  Them  passuls  of  cat's  meat  that  they  call  sailormen 
in  these  days  has  to  be  handled, — well,  the  superintendent 
of  a  Sunday-school  wouldn't  be  fit  for  the  job,  unless  he  had 
a  little  special  trainin'." 

Louada  Murilla,  the  point  of  her  pencil  at  her  lips, 
caught  a  vindictive  gleam  in  his  eyes. 

"  But  it  seems  awful  cruel,  some  of  the  things  that  you — 
you — -I  suppose  you  had  to  do  'em,  Aaron!  And  yet  when 
you  stop  and  think  that  they've  got  immortal  souls  to  save — " 

"They  don't  carry  any  such  dufHe  to  sea  in  their  dunnage- 
bags,"  snapped  the  skipper.  "Moral  suasion  on  them 
would  be  about  like  tryin'  to  whittle  through  a  turkle's  shell 
with  a  hummin'-bird's  pin-feather.  My  rule  most  generally 
was  to  find  one  soft  spot  on  'em  somewhere  that  a  marlin- 
spike  would  hurt,  and  then  hit  that  spot  hard  and  often. 
That's  the  only  way  I  ever  got  somewhere  with  a  cargo  and 
got  back  ag'in  the  same  year." 

"I  suppose  it  has  to  be,"  sighed  his  wife,  making  a  note. 
"It's  like  killing  little  calves  for  veal,  and  all  such  things  that 
make  the  fond  heart  ache." 

The  Cap'n  was  "leaving"  the  grimy  pages  of  a  log-book. 

75 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

He  paused  over  certain  entries,  and  his  face  darkened. 
There  was  no  more  vindictiveness  in  his  expression.  It  was 
regret  and  a  sort  of  vague  worry. 

"What  is  it,  Aaron  ?"  asked  his  wife,  with  wistful  appre- 
hensiveness. 

"Northin',"  he  growled. 

"But  I  know  it's  something,"  she  insisted,  "and  I'm  al 
ways  ready  to  share  your  burdens." 

Cap'n  Sproul  looked  around  on  the  peace  of  his  home, 
and  some  deep  feeling  seemed  to  surge  in  his  soul. 

"Louada  Murilla,"  he  said,  sadly,  "this  isn't  anything  to 
be  written  in  the  book,  and  I  didn't  ever  mean  to  speak  of  it 
to  you.  But  there  are  times  when  a  man  jest  has  to  talk 
about  things,  and  he  can't  help  it.  There  was  one  thing 
that  I've  been  sorry  for.  I've  said  so  to  myself,  and  I'm 
goin'  to  say  as  much  to  you.  Confession  is  good  for  the  soul, 
so  they  say,  and  it  may  help  me  out  some  to  tell  you." 

The  horrified  look  on  her  face  pricked  him  to  speak  fur 
ther.  'Tis  a  titillating  sensation,  sometimes,  to  awe  or 
shock  those  whom  we  love,  when  we  know  that  forgiveness 
waits  ready  at  hand. 

"There  was  once — there  was  one  man — I  hit  him  dretful 
hard.  He  was  a  Portygee.  But  I  hit  him  too  hard.  It  was 
a  case  of  mutiny.  I  reckon  I  could  have  proved  it  was 
mutiny,  with  the  witnesses.  But  I  hit  him  hard." 

"Did  he — ?"  gasped  his  wife. 

"He  did,"  replied  the  Cap'n,  shortly,  and  was  silent  for  a 
time. 

"The  thing  for  me  to  have  done,"  he  went  on,  despond 
ently,  "was  to  report  it,  and  stood  hearin'.  But  it  was  six 
weeks  after  we'd  dropped  him  overboard — after  the  funeral, 
ye  know — before  we  reached  port.  And  there  was  a  cargo 

76 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

ashore  jest  dancin'  up  and  down  to  slip  through  the  main 
hatch  as  soon  as  t'other  one  was  over  the  rail — and  freights 
'way  up  and  owners  anxious  for  results,  and  me  tryin'  for  a 
record,  and  all  that,  ye  know.  All  is,  there  wa'n't  nothin' 
said  by  the  crew,  for  they  wa'n't  lookin'  for  trouble,  and 
knowed  the  circumstances,  and  so  I  lo'ded  and  sailed.  And 
that's  all  to  date." 

"But  they  say  'murder  will  out."'     Her  face  was  white. 

"It  wa'n't  murder.  It  was  discipline.  And  I  didn't 
mean  to.  But  either  his  soft  spot  was  too  soft,  or  else  I  hit 
too  hard.  What  I  ought  to  have  done  was  to  report  when 
my  witnesses  was  right  handy.  Since  I've  settled  and  mar 
ried  and  got  property,  I've  woke  up  in  the  night,  sometimes, 
and  thought  what  would  happen  to  -me  if  that  Portygee's 
relatives  got  track  of  me  through  one  of  the  crew  standin'  in 
with  'em — blabbin'  for  what  he  could  git  out  of  it.  I  have 
to  think  about  those  things,  now  that  I've  got  time  to  worry. 
Things  looks  different  ashore  from  what  they  do  aflo't,  with 
your  own  ship  under  you  and  hustlin'  to  make  money."  He 
gazed  round  the  room  again,  and  seemed  to  luxuriate  in  his 
repentance. 

"But  if  anything  should  be  said,  you  could  hunt  up  those 
men  and — 

"Hunt  what  ?"  the  Cap'n  blurted.  "Hunt  tarheels  once 
they've  took  their  dunnage-bags  over  the  rail  ?  Hunt  whis 
kers  on  a  flea!  What  are  you  talkin' about  ?  Why,  Louada 
Murilla,  I  never  even  knowed  what  the  Portygee's  name  was, 
except  that  I  called  him  Joe.  A  skipper  don't  lo'd  his 
mem'ry  with  that  sculch  any  more'n  he'd  try  to  find  names 
for  the  hens  in  the  deck-coop. 

"I  made  a  mistake,"  he  continued,  after  a  time,  "in  not 
havin'  it  cleaned  up,  decks  washed,  and  everything  clewed 

77 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

snug  at  the  time  of  it.  But  ev'ry  man  makes  mistakes.  I 
made  mine  then.  It  would  be  God-awful  to  have  it  come 
down  on  me  when  I  couldn't  prove  nothin'  except  that  I  give 
him  the  best  funeral  I  could.  There  ain't  much  of  any 
thing  except  grit  in  the  gizzard  of  a  United  States  court. 
They  seem  to  think  the  Govumment  wants  every  one  hung. 
I  remember  a  captain  once  who — " 

He  paused  suddenly,  for  he  caught  sight  of  three  muddy 
wagons  trundling  in  procession  into  the  yard.  In  the  first 
one  sat  Constable  Zeburee  Nute,  his  obtrusive  nickel  badge 
on  his  overcoat. 

Cap'n  Sproul  looked  at  Louada  Murilla,  and  she  stared 
at  him,  and  in  sudden  panic  both  licked  dry  lips  and  were 
silent.  The  topic  they  had  been  pursuing  left  their  hearts 
open  to  terror.  There  are  moments  when  a  healthy  body 
suddenly  absorbs  germs  of  consumption  that  it  has  hitherto 
thrown  off  in  hale  disregard.  There  are  moments  when  the 
mind  and  courage  are  overwhelmed  by  panic  that  reason 
does  not  pause  to  analyze. 


VIII 

OUADA  MURILLA  opened  the  front  door 
when  the  chief  constable  knocked,  after 
an  exasperatingly  elaborate  hitching  and 
blanketing  of  horses.  She  staggered  to  the 
door  rather  than  walked.  The  Cap'n  sat 
with  rigid  legs  still  extended  toward  the  fire. 

The  three  men  filed  into  the  room,  and  remained  standing 
in  solemn  row.  Mr.  Nute,  on  behalf  of  the  delegation,  re 
fused  chairs  that  were  offered  by  Mrs.  Sproul.  He  had  his 
own  ideas  as  to  how  a  committee  of  notification  should  con 
duct  business.  He  stood  silent  and  looked  at  Louada 
Murilla  steadily  and  severely  until  she  realized  that  her 
absence  was  desired. 

She  tottered  out  of  the  room,  her  terrified  eyes  held  in 
lingering  thrall  by  the  woe-stricken  orbs  of  the  Cap'n. 

Constable  Nute  eyed  the  door  that  she  closed,  waiting  a 
satisfactory  lapse  of  time,  and  then  cleared  his  throat  and 
announced: 

"I  want  you  to  realize,  Cap'n  Sproul,  that  me  and  my 
feller  constables  here  has  been  put  in  a  sort  of  a  hard  posi 
tion.  I  hope  you'll  consider  that  and  govern  yourself  ac- 
cordin'.  First  of  all,  we're  obeyin'  orders  from  them  as  has 
authority.  I  will  say,  however,  that  I  have  ideas  as  to  how 
a  thing  ought  to  be  handled,  and  my  associates  have  agreed 
to  leave  the  talkin'  to  me.  I  want  to  read  you  somethin' 

79 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

first,"  he  said,  fumbling  at  the  buttons  on  his  coat,  "but  that 
you  may  have  some  notion  as  to  what  it  all  points  and  be 
thinkin'  it  over,  I'll  give  you  a  hint.  To  a  man  of  your 
understandin',  I  don't  s'pose  I  have  to  say  more  than  'Cin- 
cinnatus.'  That  one  word  explains  itself  and  our  errunt." 

"I  never  knowed  his  last  name,"  mumbled  the  Cap'n, 
enigmatically.  "  But  I  s'pose  they've  got  it  in  the  warrant, 
all  right!"  He  was  eying  the  hand  that  was  seeking  the  con 
stable's  inside  pocket.  "I  never  was  strong  on  Portygee 
names.  I  called  him  Joe." 

Mr.  Nute  merely  stared,  without  trying  to  catch  the  drift 
of  this  indistinct  muttering. 

While  the  Cap'n  watched  him  in  an  agony  of  impatience 
and  suspense,  he  slowly  drew  out  a  spectacle-case,  settled  his 
glasses  upon  his  puffy  nose,  unfolded  a  sheet  of  paper  on 
which  a  dirty  newspaper  clipping  was  pasted,  and  began  to 
read: 

"More  than  ever  before  in  the  history  of  the  United  States 
of  America  are  loyal  citizens  called  upon  to  throw  them 
selves  into  the  breach  of  municipal  affairs,  and  wrest  from 
the  hands  of  the  guilty — 

The  ears  of  Cap'n  Sproul,  buzzing  with  his  emotions, 
caught  only  a  few  words,  nor  grasped  any  part  of  the  mean 
ing.  But  the  sonorous  "United  States  of  America"  chilled 
his  blood,  and  the  word  "guilty"  made  his  teeth  chatter. 

He  felt  an  imperious  need  of  getting  out  of  that  room  for 
a  moment — of  getting  where  he  could  think  for  a  little  while, 
out  from  under  the  starings  of  those  three  solemn  men. 

"I  want  to — I  want  to — "  he  floundered;  "I  would  like 
to  get  on  my  shoes  and  my  co't  and — and — -I'll  be  right  back. 
I  won't  try  to — I'll  be  right  back,  I  say." 

Mr.  Nute  suspended  his  reading,  looked  over  his  spec- 

80 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

tacles,  and  gave  the  required  permission.  Perhaps  it  oc 
curred  to  his  official  sense  that  a  bit  more  dignified  attire 
would  suit  the  occasion  better.  A  flicker  of  gratification 
shone  on  his  face  at  the  thought  that  the  Cap'n  was  so  nobly 
and  graciously  rising  to  the  spirit  of  the  thing. 

"It's  come,  Louada  Murilla — it's  come!"  gulped  Cap'n 
Sproul,  as  he  staggered  into  the  kitchen,  where  his  wife 
cowered  in  a  corner.  "He's  readin'  a  warrant.  He's  even 
got  the  Portygee's  name.  My  Gawd,  they'll  hang  me!  I 
can't  prove  northinV 

"Oh,  Aaron,"  sobbed  his  wife,  and  continued  to  moan. 
"Oh,  Aaron — "  with  soft,  heartbreaking  duckings. 

"Once  the  law  of  land-piruts  gets  a  bight  'round  ye,  ye 
never  git  away  from  it,"  groaned  the  Cap'n.  "The  law 
sharks  is  always  waitin'  for  seafarin'  men.  There  ain't  no 
hope  for  me." 

His  wife  had  no  encouragement  to  offer. 

"Murder  will  out,  Aaron,"  she  quaked.  "And  they've 
sent  three  constables." 

"Them  other  two — be  they — ?" 

"They're  constables." 

"There  ain't  no  hope.  And  it  shows  how  desp'rit'  they 
think  I  be.  It  shows  they're  bound  to  have  me.  It's  life 
and  death,  Louada  Murilla.  If  I  don't  git  anything  but 
State  Prison,  it's  goin'  to  kill  me,  for  I've  lived  too  free  and 
open  to  be  penned  up  at  my  time  o'  life.  It  ain't  fair — it 
ain't  noways  fair!"  His  voice  broke.  "It  was  all  a  matter 
of  discipline.  But  you  can't  prove  it  to  land-sharks.  If 
they  git  me  into  their  clutches  I'm  a  goner." 

His  pistols  hung  on  the  wall  where  Louada  Murilla  had 
suspended  them,  draped  with  the  ribbons  of  peace. 

"There's  only  one  thing  to  do,"  he  whispered,  huskily, 

81 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

pointing  at  the  weapons  with  quivering  finger.  "I'll  shoot 
'em  in  the  legs,  jest  to  hold  'em  up.  I'll  git  to  salt  water. 
I  know  skippers  that  will  take  me  aboard,  even  if  they  have 
to  stand  off  the  whole  United  States.  I've  got  friends, 
Louada,  as  soon  as  I  git  to  tide-water.  It  won't  hurt  'em 
in  there — a  bullet  in  the  leg.  And  it's  life  and  death  for 
me.  There's  foreign  countries  where  they  can't  take  me  up. 
I  know  'em,  I've  been  there.  And  I'll  send  for  you,  Louada 
Murilla.  It's  the  best  I  can  think  of  now.  It  ain't  what  I 
should  choose,  but  it's  the  best  I  can  think  of.  I've  had 
short  notice.  I  can't  let  'em  take  me." 

As  he  talked  he  seemed  to  derive  some  comfort  from 
action.  He  pulled  on  his  boots.  He  wriggled  into  his  coat. 
From  a  pewter  pitcher  high  up  on  a  dresser  shelf  he  secured 
a  fat  wallet.  But  when  he  rushed  to  take  down  the  pistols 
his  wife  threw  herself  into  his  arms. 

"You  sha'n't  do  that,  Aaron,"  she  cried.  "I'll  go  to 
State  Prison  with  you — I'll  go  to  the  ends  of  the  world  to 
meet  you.  But  I  couldn't  have  those  old  men  shot  in  our 
own  house.  I  realize  you've  got  to  get  away.  But  blood 
will  never  wash  out  blood.  Take  one  of  their  teams.  Run 
the  horse  to  the  railroad-station.  It's  only  four  miles,  and 
you've  got  a  half-hour  before  the  down-train.  And  I'll  lock 
'em  into  the  setting-room,  Aaron,  and  keep  'em  as  long  as 
I  can.  And  I'll  come  to  you,  Aaron,  though  I  have  to  follow 
you  clear  around  the  world." 

In  the  last,  desperate  straits  of  an  emergency,  many  a 
woman's  wits  ring  truer  than  a  man's.  When  she  had  kissed 
him  and  departed  on  her  errand  to  lock  the  front  door  he 
realized  that  her  counsel  was  good. 

He  left  the  pistols  on  the  wall.  As  he  ran  into  the  yard, 
he  got  a  glimpse,  through  the  sitting-room  window,  of  the 

82 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

constables  standing  in  solemn  row.  Never  were  innocent 
members  of  committee  of  notification  more  blissfully  uncon 
scious  of  what  they  had  escaped.  They  were  blandly  gazing 
at  the  Cap'n's  curios  ranged  on  mantel  and  what-not. 

It  was  a  snort  from  Constable  Swanton  that  gave  the 
alarm.  Mr.  Nute's  team  was  spinning  away  down  the 
road,  the  wagon-wheels  throwing  slush  with  a  sort  of  fire 
works  effect.  Cap'n  Sproul,  like  most  sailors,  was  not  a 
skilful  driver,  but  he  was  an  energetic  one.  The  horse  was 
galloping. 

"He's  bound  for  the  town  house  before  he's  been  notified 
officially,"  stammered  Mr.  Swanton. 

"It  ain't  regular,"  said  Constable  Wade. 

Mr.  Nute  made  no  remark.  He  looked  puzzled,  but  he 
acted  promptly.  He  found  the  front  door  locked  and  the 
kitchen  door  locked.  But  the  window-catches  were  on  the 
inside,  and  he  slammed  up  the  nearest  sash  and  leaped  out. 
The  others  followed.  The  pursuit  was  on  as  soon  as  they 
could  get  to  their  wagons,  Mr.  Wade  riding  with  the  chief 
constable. 

The  town  house  of  Smyrna  is  on  the  main  road  leading 
to  the  railway-station.  The  constables,  topping  a  hill  an 
eighth  of  a  mile  behind  the  fugitive,  expected  to  see  him  turn 
in  at  the  town  house.  But  he  tore  past,  his  horse  still  on  the 
run,  the  wagon  swaying  wildly  as  he  turned  the  corner  be 
yond  the  Merrithew  sugar  orchard. 

"Well,  I  swow,"  grunted  Mr.  Nute,  and  licked  on. 

The  usual  crowd  of  horse-swappers  was  gathered  in  the 
town-house  yard,  and  beheld  this  tumultuous  passage  with 
professional  interest.  And,  recognizing  the  first  selectman- 
elect  of  Smyrna,  their  interest  had  an  added  flavor. 

Next  came  the  two  teams  containing  the  constables,  lash- 
7  83 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

ing  past  on  the  run.  They  paid  no  attention  to  the  amazed 
yells  of  inquiry  from  the  horse-swappers,  and  disappeared 
behind  the  sugar  orchard. 

"You've  got  me!"  said  Uncle  Silas  Drake  to  the  first  out- 
rush  of  the  curious  from  the  town  house.  In  his  amazement, 
Uncle  Silas  was  still  holding  to  the  patient  nose  of  the  horse 
whose  teeth  he  had  been  examining.  "They  went  past  like 
soft-soap  slidin'  down  the  suller  stairs,  and  that's  as  fur's 
I'm  knowin'.  But  I  want  to  remark,  as  my  personal  opin 
ion,  that  a  first  seeleckman  of  this  town  ought  to  be  'tendin' 
to  his  duties  made  and  pervided,  instead  of  razooin'  bosses 
up  and  down  in  front  of  this  house  when  town  meetin'  is 
goin'  on." 

One  by  one,  voters,  mumbling  their  amazement,  un 
hitched  their  horses  and  started  along  the  highway  in  the 
direction  the  fugitives  had  taken.  It  seemed  to  all  that  this 
case  required  to  be  investigated.  The  procession  whipped 
along  briskly  and  noisily. 

Colonel  Gideon  Ward,  returning  from  the  railroad- 
station,  where  he  had  been  to  order  flat-cars  for  lumber, 
heard  the  distant  clamor  of  voices,  and  stood  up  in  his  tall 
cart  to  listen.  At  that  instant,  around  the  bend  of  the  road, 
twenty  feet  away,  came  a  horse  galloping  wildly.  Colonel 
Ward  was  halted  squarely  in  the  middle  of  the  way.  He 
caught  an  amazed  glimpse  of  Cap'n  Sproul  trying  to  rein 
to  one  side  with  unskilled  hands,  and  then  the  wagons 
met.  Colonel  Ward's  wagon  stood  like  a  rock.  The  lighter 
vehicle,  locking  wheels,  went  down  with  a  crash,  and  Cap'n 
Sproul  shot  head-on  over  the  dasher  into  his  brother-in- 
law's  lap,  as  he  crouched  on  his  seat. 

The  advantage  was  with  Cap'n  Sproul,  for  the  Colonel 
was  underneath.  Furthermore,  Cap'n  Sproul  was  thrice 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

armed  with  the  resolution  of  a  desperate  man.  Without  an 
instant's  hesitation  he  drew  back,  hit  Ward  a  few  resound 
ing  buffets  on  either  side  of  his  head,  and  then  tossed  the 
dizzied  man  out  of  his  wagon  into  the  roadside  slush.  An 
instant  later  he  had  the  reins,  swung  the  frightened  horse 
across  the  gutter  and  around  into  the  road,  and  continued 
his  flight  in  the  direction  of  the  railroad-station. 

The  constables,  leading  the  pursuing  voters  by  a  few 
lengths,  found  Colonel  Ward  sitting  up  in  the  ditch  and 
gaping  in  utter  amazement  and  dire  wrath  at  the  turn  of  the 
road  where  Cap'n  Sproul  had  swept  out  of  sight. 

The  wreck  of  the  wagon  halted  them. 

"I  s'pose  you've  jest  seen  our  first  selectman-elect  pass 
this  way,  haven't  ye  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Nute,  with  official 
conservatism. 

The  Colonel  had  not  yet  regained  his  powers  of  speech. 
He  jabbed  with  bony  finger  in  the  direction  of  the  railroad, 
and  moved  his  jaws  voicelessly.  Mr.  Swanton  descended 
from  the  wagon,  helped  him  out  of  the  ditch,  and  began  to 
stroke  the  slush  from  his  garments  with  mittened  hand.  As 
he  still  continued  to  gasp  ineffectually,  Mr.  Nute  drove  on, 
leaving  him  standing  by  the  roadside. 

Cap'n  Sproul  was  at  bay  on  the  station  platform,  feet 
braced  defiantly  apart,  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head,  and 
desperate  resolve  flaming  from  his  eyes. 

"  Don't  ye  git  out  of  your  wagon,  Nute,"  he  rasped.  "  It's 
been  touch  and  go  once  with  the  three  of  ye  to-day.  I  could 
have  killed  ye  like  sheep.  Don't  git  in  my  way  ag'in.  Take 
warnin'!  It's  life  or  death,  and  a  few  more  don't  make 
much  difference  to  me  now." 

The  chief  constable  stared  at  him  with  bulging  eyes. 

"I  could  have  killed  ye  and  I  didn't,"  repeated  the  Cap'n. 

85 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"Let  that  show  ye  that  I'm  square  till  I  have  to  be  otherwise. 
But  I'm  a  desp'rit'  man,  Nute.  I'm  goin'  to  take  that 
train."  He  brandished  his  fist  at  a  trail  of  smoke  up  be 
hind  the  spruces.  "Gawd  pity  the  man  that  gits  in  my 
way!" 

"Somethin'  has  happened  to  his  mind  all  of  a  sudden," 
whispered  Mr.  Wade.  "He  ought  to  be  took  care  of  till 
he  gits  over  it.  It  would  be  a  pity  and  a  shame  to  let  a 
prominent  man  like  that  git  away  and  fall  into  the  hands 
of  strangers." 

"All  of  ye  take  warnin',"  bawled  the  Cap'n  to  his  towns 
men,  who  were  crowding  their  wagons  into  the  station 
square. 

Constable  Zeburee  Nute  drove  his  whip  into  the  socket, 
threw  down  his  reins,  and  stood  up.  The  hollow  hoot  of 
the  locomotive  had  sounded  up  the  track. 

"Feller  citizens,"  he  cried,  "as  chairman  of  the  committee 
of  notification,  I  desire  to  report  that  I  have  'tended  to  my 
duties  in  so  far  as  I  could  to  date.  But  there  has  things 
happened  that  I  can't  figger  out,  and  for  which  I  ain't  re 
sponsible.  There  ain't  no  time  now  for  ifs,  buts,  or  ands. 
That  train  is  too  near.  A  certain  prominunt  citizen  that  I 
don't  need  to  name  is  thinkin'  of  takin'  that  train  when 
he  ain't  fit  to  do  so.  There'll  be  time  to  talk  it  over  after 
ward." 

Cap'n  Sproul  was  backing  away  to  turn  the  corner  of  the 
station. 

"  I  call  on  all  of  ye  as  a  posse,"  bawled  Mr.  Nute.  "  Bring 
along  your  halters  and  don't  use  no  vi'lence." 

Samson  himself,  even  though  his  weapon  had  been  the 
jaw-bone  of  a  megatherium,  couldn't  have  resisted  that 
onrush  of  the  willing  populace.  In  five  minutes,  the  Cap'n, 

86 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

trussed  hand  and  foot,  and  crowded  in  between  Constables 
Nute  and  Wade,  was  riding  back  toward  Smyrna  town 
house,  helpless  as  a  veal  calf  bound  for  market. 

"Now,"  resumed  Mr.  Nute,  calmly,  "now  that  you're 
with  us,  Cap'n,  and  seem  to  be  quieted  down  a  little,  I'll 
perceed  to  execute  the  errunt  put  upon  me  as  chairman  of 
the  notification  committee." 

With  Mr.  Wade  driving  slowly,  he  read  the  newspaper 
clipping  that  sounded  the  clarion  call  that  summoned  men 
of  probity  to  public  office,  and  at  the  close  formally  notified 
Cap'n  Sproul  that  he  had  been  elected  first  selectman  of 
Smyrna.  He  did  all  this  without  enthusiasm,  and  sighed 
with  official  relief  when  it  was  over. 

"And,"  he  wound  up,  "it  is  the  sentiment  of  this  town 
that  there  ain't  another  man  in  it  so  well  qualified  to  lead 
us  up  out  of  the  valley  of  darkness  where  we've  been  wal- 
lerin'.  We  have  called  our  Cincinnatus  to  his  duty." 

They  had  come  around  a  bend  of  the  road  and  now  faced 
Colonel  Ward,  stumping  along  stolidly  through  the  slush, 
following  the  trail  of  his  team. 

"That's  the  way  he  ought  to  be,"  roared  the  Colonel. 
'Rope  him  up!  Put  ox-chains  on  him.  And  I'll  give  a 
thousand  dollars  to  build  an  iron  cage  for  him.  You're  all 
crazy  and  he's  your  head  lunatic." 

Mr.  Nute,  inwardly,  during  all  the  time  that  he  had  been 
so  calmly  addressing  his  captive,  was  tortured  with  cruel 
doubts  as  to  the  Cap'n's  sanity.  But  he  believed  in  dis 
charging  his  duty  first.  And  he  remembered  that  insane 
people  were  more  easily  prevailed  upon  by  those  who  ap 
peared  to  make  no  account  of  their  whims. 

During  it  all,  Cap'n  Sproul  had  been  silent  in  utter 
amazement.  The  truth  had  come  in  a  blinding  flash  that 

87 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

would  have  unsettled  a  man  not  so  well  trained  to  control 
emotion. 

"Drive  along,"  he  curtly  commanded  Nute,  paying  no 
heed  to  the  incensed  Colonel's  railings.  "You  look  me  in 
the  eye,"  he  continued,  as  soon  as  they  were  out  of  hearing. 
"Do  you  see  any  signs  that  I  am  out  of  my  head,  or  that  I 
need  these  ropes  on  me  ?" 

"I  can't  say  as  I  do,"  admitted  the  constable,  after  he  had 
quailed  a  bit  under  the  keen,  straightforward  stare  of  the 
ex-mariner's  hard,  gray  eyes. 

"Take  'em  off,  then,"  directed  the  Cap'n,  in  tones  of 
authority.  And  when  it  was  done,  he  straightened  his  hat, 
set  back  his  shoulders,  and  said: 

"Drive  me  to  the  town  house  where  I  was  bound  when 
that  hoss  of  yours  run  away  with  me."  Mr.  Nute  stared 
at  him  wildly,  and  drove  on. 

They  were  nearly  to  their  destination  before  Constable 
Nute  ventured  upon  what  his  twisted  brow  and  working 
lips  testified  he  had  been  pondering  long. 

"It  ain't  that  I'm  tryin'  to  pry  into  your  business,  Cap'n 
Sproul,  nor  anything  of  the  kind,  but,  bein'  a  man  that  never 
intended  to  do  any  harm  to  any  one,  I  can't  figger  out  what 
grudge  you've  got  against  me.  You  said  on  the  station 
platform  that — 

"Nute,"  said  the  Cap'n,  briskly,  "as  I  understand  it, 
you  never  went  to  sea,  and  you  and  the  folks  round  here 
don't  understand  much  about  sailormen,  hey?" 

The  constable  shook  his  head. 

"Then  don't  try  to  find  out  much  about  'em.  You 
wouldn't  understand.  The  folks  round  here  wouldn't  un 
derstand.  We  have  our  ways.  You  have  your  ways. 
Some  of  the  things  you  do  and  some  of  the  things  you  say 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

could  be  called  names  by  me,  providin'  I  wanted  to  be  dis 
agreeable  and  pick  flaws.  All  men  in  this  world  are  differ 
ent — especially  saiiormen  from  them  that  have  always  lived 
inshore.  We've  got  to  take  our  feller  man  as  we  find  him." 

They  were  in  the  town-house  yard — a  long  procession  of 
teams  following. 

"And  by-the-way,  Nute,"  bawled  the  Cap'n,  from  the 
steps  of  the  building  as  he  was  going  in,  using  his  best  sea 
tones  so  that  all  might  hear,  "it  was  the  fault  of  your  horse 
that  he  run  away,  and  you  ought  to  be  prosecuted  for  leavin' 
such  an  animile  'round  where  a  sailorman  that  ain't  used  to 
hosses  could  get  holt  of  him.  But  I'm  always  liberal  about 
other  folks'  faults.  Bring  in  your  bill  for  the  wagon." 

Setting  his  teeth  hard,  he  walked  upon  the  platform  of 
the  town-hall,  and  faced  the  voters  with  such  an  air  of  au 
thority  and  such  self-possession  that  they  cheered  him  lust 
ily.  And  then,  with  an  intrepidity  that  filled  his  secret 
heart  with  amazement  as  he  talked,  he  made  the  first  real 
speech  of  his  life— a  speech  of  acceptance. 

"Yes,  s'r,  it  was  a  speech,  Louada  Murilla,"  he  declared 
that  evening,  as  he  sat  again  in  their  sitting-room  with  his 
stockinged  feet  to  the  blaze  of  the  Franklin.  "I  walked 
that  platform  like  it  was  a  quarter-deck,  and  my  line  of  talk 
run  jest  as  free  as  a  britches-buoy  coil.  And  when  I  got 
done,  they  was  up  on  the  settees  howlin'  for  me.  If  any 
man  came  back  into  that  town-house  thinkin'  I  was  a  luna 
tic  on  account  of  what  happened  to-day,  they  got  a  diff'runt 
notion  before  I  got  done.  Why,  they  all  come  'round  and 
shook  my  hand,  and  said  they  must  have  been  crazy  to  tackle 
a  prominunt  citizen  that  way  on  the  word  of  old  Nute.  It 
must  have  been  a  great  speech  I  made.  They  all  said  so." 

He  relighted  his  pipe. 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"What  did  you  say,  Aaron?"  eagerly  asked  his  wife. 
"Repeat  it  over." 

He  smoked  awhile. 

"Louada  Murilla,"  he  said,  "when  I  walked  onto  that 
platform  my  heart  was  goin'  like  a  donkey-engine  workin' 
a  winch,  there  was  a  sixty-mile  gale  blowin'  past  my  ears, 
and  a  fog-bank  was  front  of  my  eyes.  And  when  the  sun 
came  out  ag'in  and  it  cleared  off,  the  moderator  was  standin' 
there  shaking  my  hand  and  tellin'  me  what  a  speech  it  was. 
It  was  a  speech  that  had  to  be  made.  They  had  to  be 
bluffed.  But  as  to  knowin'  a  word  of  what  I  said,  why,  I 
might  jest  as  well  try  to  tell  you  what  the  mermaid  said  when 
the  feller  brought  her  stockin's  for  her  birthday  present. 

"The  only  thing  that  I  can  remember  about  that  speech," 
he  resumed,  after  a  pause,  and  she  gazed  on  him  hopefully, 
"is  that  your  brother  Gideon  busted  into  the  town  house 
and  tried  to  break  up  my  speech  by  tellin'  'em  I  was  a  luna 
tic.  I  ordered  the  constables  to  put  him  out." 

"Did  they?"  she  asked,  with  solicitude. 

"No,"  he  replied,  rubbing  his  nose,  reflectively.  "'Fore 
the  constables  got  to  him,  the  boys  took  holt  and  throwed 
him  out  of  the  window.  I  reckon  he's  come  to  a  realizin' 

sense  by  this  time  that  the  town  don't  want  him  for  select- 

)> 
man. 

He  rapped  out  the  ashes  and  put  the  pipe  on  the  hearth 
of  the  Franklin. 

"I'm  fair  about  an  enemy,  Louada  Murilla,  and  I  kind 
of  hate  to  rub  it  into  Gideon.  But  now  that  I'm  on  this 
bluff  about  what  happened  to-day,  I've  got  to  work  it  to  a 
finish.  I'm  goin'  to  sue  Gid  for  obstructin'  the  ro'd  and 
smashin'  Nute's  wagon,  and  then  jumpin'  out  and  leavin' 
me  to  be  run  away  with.  The  idea  is,  there  are  some  fine 

90 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

touches  needed  in  lyin'  out  of  that  part  of  the  scrape,  and, 
as  the  first  selectman  of  Smyrna,  I  can't  afford  to  take 
chances  and  depend  on  myself,  and  be  showed  up.  I  don't 
hold  any  A.B.  certificate  when  it  comes  to  lyin'.  So  for 
them  fancy  touches,  I  reckon  I'll  have  to  break  my  usual 
rule  and  hire  a  lawyer." 

He  rose  and  yawned. 

"Is  the  cat  put  out,  Louada  ?" 

And  when  she  had  replied  in  the  affirmative,  he  said: 

"Seein'  it  has  been  quite  a  busy  day,  let's  go  to  bed." 


IX 

RS.  HIRAM  LOOK,  lately  "Widder 
Snell,"  appearing  as  plump,  radiant, 
and  roseate  as  a  bride  in  her  honey 
moon  should  appear — her  color  assist- 
ed  by  the  caloric  of  a  cook-stove  in 
June — put  her  head  out  of  the  buttery  window  and  informed 
the  inquiring  Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul  that  Hiram  was  out  be 
hind  the  barn. 

"Married  life  seems  still  to  be  agreein'  with  all  con 
cerned,"  suggested  Cap'n  Sproul,  quizzically.  "Even  that 
flour  on  your  nose  is  becomin'." 

"Go  'long,  you  old  rat!"  tittered  Mrs.  Look.  "Better 
save  all  your  compliments  for  your  own  wife!" 

"Oh,  I  tell  her  sweeter  things  than  that,"  replied  the 
Cap'n,  serenely.  With  a  grin  under  his  beard,  he  went  on 
toward  the  barn. 

Smyrna  gossips  were  beginning  to  comment,  with  more 
or  less  spite,  on  the  sudden  friendship  between  their  first 
selectman  and  Hiram  Look,  since  Look — once  owner  of  a 
road  circus — had  retired  from  the  road,  had  married  his  old 
love,  and  had  settled  down  on  the  Snell  farm.  Considering 
the  fact  that  the  selectman  and  showman  had  bristled  at 
each  other  like  game-cocks  the  first  time  they  met,  Smyrna 
wondered  at  the  sudden  effusion  of  affection  that  now  kept 
them  trotting  back  and  forth  on  almost  daily  visits  to  each 
other. 

92 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Batson  Reeves,  second  selectman  of  Smyrna,  understood 
better  than  most  of  the  others.  It  was  on  him  as  a  common 
anvil  that  the  two  of  them  had  pounded  their  mutual  spite 
cool.  Hiram,  suddenly  reappearing  with  a  plug  hat  and  a 
pet  elephant,  after  twenty  years  of  wandering,  had  won 
promptly  the  hand  of  Widow  Snell,  nee  Amanda  Purkis, 
whose  self  and  whose  acres  Widower  Reeves  was  just  ready 
to  annex.  And  Hiram  had  thereby  partially  satisfied  the 
old  boyhood  grudge  planted  deep  in  his  stormy  temper  when 
Batson  Reeves  had  broken  up  the  early  attachment  between 
Hiram  Look  and  Amanda  Purkis.  As  for  First  Selectman 
Sproul,  hot  in  his  fight  with  Reeves  for  official  supremacy, 
his  league  with  Hiram,  after  an  initial  combat  to  try 
spurs,  was  instant  and  cordial  as  soon  as  he  had  under 
stood  a  few  things  about  the  showman's  character  and 
purpose. 

"Birds  of  a  feather!"  gritted  Reeves,  in  his  confidences 
with  his  intimates.  "An'  old  turkle-back  of  a  sea-capt'in 
runnin'  things  in  this  town  'fore  he's  been  here  two  years, 
jest  'cause  he's  got  cheek  enough  and  thutty  thousand  dol 
lars — and  now  comes  that  old  gas-bag  with  a  plug  hat  on 
it,  braggin'  of  his  own  thutty  thousand  dollars,  and  they 
hitch  up!  Gawd  help  Smyrna,  that's  all  I  say!" 

And  yet,  had  all  the  spiteful  eyes  in  Smyrna  peered 
around  the  corner  of  the  barn  on  that  serene  June  forenoon, 
they  must  have  softened  just  a  bit  at  sight  of  the  placid 
peace  of  it  all. 

The  big  doors  were  rolled  back,  and  "Imogene,"  the  an 
cient  elephant  whose  fond  attachment  to  Hiram  had  pre 
served  her  from  the  auction-block,  bent  her  wrinkled  front 
to  the  soothing  sunshine  and  "weaved"  contentedly  on  her 
slouchy  legs.  She  was  watching  her  master  with  the  thor- 

93 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

ough  appreciation  of  one  who  has  understood  and  loved 
the  "sportin'  life." 

Hiram  was  in  shirt-sleeves  and  bareheaded,  his  stringy 
hair  combed  over  his  bald  spot.  His  long-tailed  coat  and 
plug  hat  hung  from  a  wooden  peg  on  the  side  of  the  barn. 
In  front  of  him  was  a  loose  square  of  burlap,  pegged  to  the 
ground  at  one  edge,  its  opposite  edge  nailed  to  the  barn,  and 
sloping  at  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees. 

As  Cap'n  Sproul  rounded  the  corner  Hiram  had  just 
tossed  a  rooster  in  the  air  over  the  burlap.  The  bird  came 
down  flapping  its  wings;  its  legs  stuck  out  stiffly.  When  it 
struck  the  rude  net  it  bounded  high,  and  came  down  again, 
and  continued  its  grotesque  hornpipe  until  it  finally  lost  its 
spring. 

"I'm  only  givin'  P.  T.  Barnum  his  leg-exercise,"  said 
Hiram,  recovering  the  rooster  and  sticking  him  under  one 
arm  while  he  shook  hands  with  his  caller.  "I  don't  expect 
to  ever  match  him  again  in  this  God-forsaken  country,  but 
there's  some  comfort  in  keepin'  him  in  trainin'.  Pinch 
them  thighs,  Cap'n!  Ain't  they  the  wickin'  ?" 

"I  sh'd  hate  to  try  to  eat  'em,"  said  the  Cap'n,  gingerly 
poking  his  stubby  finger  against  the  rooster's  leg. 

"Eat  'em!"  snapped  the  showman,  raking  the  horns  of 
his  long  mustache  irritably  away  from  his  mouth.  "You 
talk  like  the  rest  of  these  farmers  round  here  that  never  heard 
of  a  hen  bein'  good  for  anything  except  to  lay  eggs  and  be  et 
for  a  Thanksgivin'  dinner."  He  held  the  rooster  a-straddle 
his  arm,  his  broad  hand  on  its  back,  and  shook  him  under 
the  Cap'n's  nose.  "I've  earnt  more'n  a  thousand  dollars 
with  P.  T. — and  that's  a  profit  in  the  hen  business  that  all 
the  condition  powders  this  side  of  Tophet  couldn't  fetch." 

"A  thousand  dollars!"  echoed  Cap'n  Sproul,  stuffing  his 

94 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

pipe.     He  gazed  at  P.  T.  with  new  interest.     "He  must 
have  done  some  fightin'  in  his  day." 

"Fight!"  cried  the  showman.  He  tossed  the  rooster  upon 
the  burlap  once  more.  "Fight!  Look  at  that  leg  action! 
That's  the  best  yaller-legged,  high-station  game-cock  that 
ever  pecked  his  way  out  of  a  shell.  I've  taken  all  comers 
'twixt  Hoorah  and  Hackenny,  and  he  ain't  let  me  down  yet. 
Look  at  them  brad-awls  of  his!" 

"Mebbe  all  so,  but  I  don't  like  hens,  not  for  a  minit," 
growled  the  first  selectman,  squinting  sourly  through  his 
tobacco-smoke  at  the  dancing  fowl. 

Hiram  got  a  saucer  from  a  shelf  inside  the  barn  and  set 
it  on  the  ground. 

"Eat  your  chopped  liver,  P.  T.,"  he  commanded;  "train- 
in'  is  over." 

He  relighted  his  stub  of  cigar  and  bent  proud  gaze  on  the 
bird. 

"No,  sir,"  pursued  the  Cap'n,  "I  ain't  got  no  use  for  a 
hen  unless  it's  settin',  legs  up,  on  a  platter,  and  me  with  a 
carvin'-knife." 

"Always  felt  that  way?"  inquired  Hiram. 

"Not  so  much  as  I  have  sence  I've  been  tryin'  to  start  my 
garden  this  spring.  As  fur  back  as  the  time  I  was  gittin' 
the  seed  in,  them  hens  of  Widder  Sidene  Pike,  that  lives 
next  farm  to  mine,  began  their  hellishness,  with  that  old 
wart-legged  ostrich  of  a  rooster  of  her'n  to  lead  'em.  They'd 
almost  peck  the  seeds  out  of  my  hand,  and  the  minit  I'd 
turn  my  back  they  was  over  into  that  patch,  right  foot,  left 
foot,  kick  heel  and  toe,  and  swing  to  pardners — and  you 
couldn't  see  the  sun  for  dirt.  And  at  every  rake  that  rooster 
lifts  soil  enough  to  fill  a  stevedore's  coal-bucket." 

"Why  don't  you  shoot  'em  ?"  advised  Hiram,  calmly. 

95 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"  Me — the  first  s'lectman  of  this  town  out  poppin'  off  a 
widder's  hens  ?  That  would  be  a  nice  soundin'  case  when 
it  got  into  court,  wouldn't  it  ?" 

"Get  into  court  first  and  sue  her,"  advised  the  militant 
Hiram. 

"I  donno  as  I've  ever  said  it  to  you,  but  I've  al'ays  said  it 
to  close  friends,"  stated  the  Cap'n,  earnestly,  "that  there 
are  only  three  things  on  earth  I'm  afraid  of,  and  them  are: 
pneumony,  bein'  struck  by  lightnin',  and  havin'  a  land- 
shark  git  the  law  on  me.  There  ain't  us'ly  no  help  for  ye." 

He  sighed  and  smoked  reflectively.  Then  his  face 
hardened. 

"There's  grown  to  be  more  to  it  lately  than  the  hen  end. 
Have  you  heard  that  sence  Bat  Reeves  got  let  down  by  she 
that  was  Widder  Snell" — he  nodded  toward  the  house — 
"he  has  been  sort  of  caught  on  the  bounce,  as  ye  might  say, 
by  the  Widder  Pike  ?  Well,  bein'  her  close  neighbor,  I 
know  it's  so.  And,  furdermore,  the  widder's  told  my  wife, 
bein'  so  tickled  over  ketchin'  him  that  she  couldn't  hold  it 
to  herself.  Now,  for  the  last  week,  every  time  that  old  red- 
gilled  dirt-walloper  has  led  them  hens  into  my  garden,  I've 
caught  Bat  Reeves  peekin'  around  the  corner  of  the  widder's 
house  watchin'  'em.  If  there's  any  such  thing  as  a  man 
bein'  able  to  talk  human  language  to  a  rooster,  and  put  sin 
and  Satan  into  him,  Reeves  is  doin'  it.  But  what's  the  good 
of  my  goin'  and  lickin'  him  ?  It  '11  mean  law.  That's  what 
he's  lookin'  for — and  him  with  that  old  gandershanked  law 
yer  for  a  brother!  See  what  they  done  to  you!" 

Hiram's  eyes  grew  hard,  and  he  muttered  irefully.  For 
cuffing  Batson  Reeves  off  the  Widow  Snell's  door-step  he 
had  paid  a  fat  fine,  assessed  for  the  benefit  of  the  assaulted, 
along  with  liberal  costs  allowed  to  Squire  Alcander  Reeves. 

96 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"They  can't  get  any  of  my  money  that  way,"  pursued 
the  Cap'n.  "I'd  pay  suthin'  for  the  privilege  of  drawin' 
and  quarterin'  him,  but  a  plain  lickin'  ain't  much  object. 
A  lickin'  does  him  good." 

"And  it's  so  much  ready  money  for  that  skunk,"  added 
the  showman.  He  cocked  his  head  to  one  side  to  avoid  his 
cigar  smoke,  and  stared  down  on  P.  T.  pecking  the  last 
scraps  of  raw  liver  from  the  saucer. 

"I  understand  you  to  say,  do  I,"  resumed  Hiram,  "that 
he  is  shooing  them  hens — or,  at  least,  condonin'  their  comiri' 
down  into  your  garden  ev'ry  day  ?" 

"I  run  full  half  a  mile  jest  before  I  came  acrost  to  see  you, 
chasin'  'em  out,"  said  the  Cap'n,  gloomily,  "and  I'll  bet 
they  was  back  in  there  before  I  got  to  the  first  bars  on  my 
way  over  here." 

P.  T.,  feeling  the  stimulus  of  the  liver,  crooked  his  neck 
and  crowed  spiritedly.  Then  he  scratched  the  side  of  his 
head  with  one  toe,  shook  himself,  and  squatted  down  con 
tentedly  in  the  sun. 

"In  the  show  business,"  said  Hiram,  "when  I  found  a 
feller  with  a  game  that  I  could  play  better  'n  him,  I  was 
always  willin'  to  play  his  game."  He  stuck  up  his  hand 
with  the  fingers  spread  like  a  fan,  and  began  to  check  items. 
"A  gun  won't  do,  because  it's  a  widder's  hens;  a  fight  won't 
do,  because  it's  Bat  Reeves;  law  won't  do,  because  he's  got 
old  heron-legged  Alcander  right  in  his  family.  Now  this 
thing  is  gittin'  onto  your  sperits,  and  I  can  see  it!" 

"It  is  heiferin'  me  bad,"  admitted  the  Cap'n.  "It  ain't 
so  much  the  hens — though  Gawd  knows  I  hate  a  hen  bad 
enough — but  it's  Bat  Reeves  standin'  up  there  grinnin'  and 
watchin'  me  play  tag-you're-it  with  Old  Scuff-and-kick  and 
them  female  friends  of  his.  For  a  man  that's  dreamed  of 

97 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

garden-truck  jest  as  he  wants  it,  and  never  had  veg'tables 
enough  in  twenty  years  of  sloshin'  round  the  world  on  ship 
board,  it's  about  the  most  cussed,  aggravatin'  thing  I  ever 
got  against.  And  there  I  am!  Swear  and  chase — and 
northin*  comin'  of  it!" 

Hiram  clenched  his  cigar  more  firmly  in  his  teeth,  leaned 
over  carefully,  and  picked  up  the  recumbent  P.  T. 

He  tucked  the  rooster  under  his  arm  and  started  off. 

"Let's  go  'crost  back  lots,"  he  advised.  "What  people 
don't  see  and  don't  know  about  won't  hurt  'em,  and  that 
includes  your  wife  and  mine. 

"It  won't  be  no  kind  of  a  hen-fight,  you  understand," 
Hiram  chatted  as  they  walked,  "'cause  that  compost-heap 
scratcher  won't  last  so  long  as  old  Brown  stayed  in  heaven. 
For  P.  T.,  here,  it  will  be  jest  bristle,  shuffle,  one,  two — brad 
through  each  eye,  and — 'Cock-a-doodle-doo!'  All  over! 
But  it  will  give  you  a  chance  to  see  some  of  his  leg-work,  and 
a  touch  or  two  of  his  fancy  spurrin' — and  then  you  can  take 
old  Sculch-scratcher  by  the  legs  and  hold  him  up  and  inform 
Bat  Reeves  that  he  can  come  and  claim  property.  It's  his 
own  game — and  we're  playin'  it!  There  ain't  any  chance 
for  law  where  one  rooster  comes  over  into  another  rooster's 
yard  and  gets  done  up.  Moral:  Keep  roosters  in  where 
the  lightnin'  won't  strike  'em." 

When  they  topped  Hickory  Hill  they  had  a  survey  of 
Cap'n  Sproul's  acres.  Here  and  there  on  the  brown  mould 
of  his  garden  hehind  the  big  barn  were  scattered  yellow  and 
gray  specks. 

"There  they  be,  blast  'em  to  fury!"  growled  the  Cap'n. 

His  eyes  then  wandered  farther,  as  though  seeking  some 
thing  familiar,  and  he  clutched  the  showman's  arm  as  they 
walked  along. 

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THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"And  there's  Bat  Reeves's  gray  hoss  hitched  in  the  wid- 
der's  dooryard." 

"Mebbe  he'll  wait  and  have  fricasseed  rooster  for  din 
ner,"  suggested  Hiram,  grimly.  "That's  all  his  rooster '11 
be  good  for  in  fifteen  minutes." 

"It  would  be  the  devil  and  repeat  for  us  if  the  widder's 
rooster  should  lick — and  Bat  Reeves  standin*  and  lookin' 
on,"  suggested  the  Cap'n,  bodingly. 

Hiram  stopped  short,  looked  this  faltering  faint-heart  all 
over  from  head  to  heel  with  withering  scorn,  and  demanded : 
"Ain't  you  got  sportin'  blood  enough  to  know  the  difference 
between  a  high-station  game-cock  and  that  old  bow-legged 
Mormon  down  there  scratchin'  your  garden-seeds  ?" 

"Well,"  replied  the  Cap'n,  rather  surlily,  "I  ain't  to 
blame  for  what  I  don't  know  about,  and  I  don't  know  about 
hens,  and  I  don't  want  to  know.  But  I  do  know  that  he's 
more'n  twice  as  big  as  your  rooster,  and  he's  had  exercise 
enough  in  my  garden  this  spring  to  be  more'n  twice  as 
strong.  All  is,  don't  lay  it  to  me  not  warnin'  you,  if  you 
lose  your  thousand-dollar  hen!" 

"Don't  you  wear  your  voice  out  tryin'  to  tell  me  about 
my  business  in  the  hen-fightin'  line,"  snapped  the  show 
man,  fondly  "huggling"  P.  T.  more  closely  under  his  arm. 
"This  is  where  size  don't  count.  It's  skill.  There  won't 
be  enough  to  call  it  a  scrap." 

They  made  a  detour  through  the  Sproul  orchard  to  avoid 
possible  observation  by  Louada  Murilla,  the  Cap'n's  wife, 
and  by  so  doing  showed  themselves  plainly  to  any  one  who 
might  be  looking  that  way  from  the  widow's  premises.  This 
was  a  part  of  the  showman's  plan.  He  hoped  to  attract 
Reeves's  attention.  He  did.  They  saw  him  peering  under 
his  palm  from  the  shed  door,  evidently  suspecting  that  this 
8  99 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

combination  of  his  two  chief  foes  meant  something  sinister. 
He  came  out  of  the  shed  and  walked  down  toward  the  fence 
when  he  saw  them  headed  for  the  garden. 

"Watchin'  out  for  evidence  in  a  law  case,  probably," 
growled  Cap'n  Sproul,  the  fear  of  onshore  artfulness  ever 
with  him.  "He'd  ruther  law  it  any  time  than  have  a  fair 
fight,  man  to  man,  and  that's  the  kind  of  a  critter  I  hate." 

"The  widder's  lookin'  out  of  the  kitchen  winder,"  Hiram 
announced,  "and  I'm  encouraged  to  think  that  mebbe  he'll 
want  to  shine  a  little  as  her  protector,  and  will  come  over 
into  the  garden  to  save  her  hen.  Then  will  be  your  time. 
He'll  be  trespassin',  and  I'll  be  your  witness.  Go  ahead 
and  baste  the  stuffin'  out  of  him." 

He  squatted  down  at  the  edge  of  the  garden-patch,  holding 
the  impatient  P.  T.  between  his  hands. 

"Usually  in  a  reg'lar  match  I  scruffle  his  feathers  and 
blow  in  his  eye,  Cap'n,  but  I  won't  have  to  do  it  this  time. 
It's  too  easy  a  proposition.  I'm  jest  tellin'  you  about  it  so 
that  if  you  ever  git  interested  in  fightin'  hens  after  this,  you'll 
be  thankful  to  me  for  a  pointer  or  two." 

"I  won't  begin  to  take  lessons  yet  a  while,"  the  Cap'n 
grunted.  "It  ain't  in  my  line." 

Hiram  tossed  his  feathered  gladiator  out  upon  the  garden 
mould. 

"S-s-s-s-!     Eat  him  up,  boy!"  he  commanded. 

P.  T.  had  his  eye  on  the  foe,  but,  with  the  true  instinct  of 
sporting  blood,  he  would  take  no  unfair  advantage  by 
stealthy  advance  on  the  preoccupied  scratcher.  He  strad 
dled,  shook  out  his  glossy  rufF,  and  crowed  shrilly. 

The  other  rooster  straightened  up  from  his  agricultural 
labors,  and  stared  at  this  lone  intruder  on  his  family  privacy. 
He  was  a  tall,  rakish-looking  fowl,  whose  erect  carriage  and 

100 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

lack  of  tail-feathers  made  him  look  like  a  spindle-shanked 
urchin  as  he  towered  there  among  the  busy  hens. 

In  order  that  there  might  be  no  mistake  as  to  his  belliger 
ent  intentions,  P.  T.  crowed  again. 

The  other  replied  with  a  sort  of  croupy  hoarseness. 

"Sounds  like  he  was  full  to  the  neck  with  your  garden- 
seeds,"  commented  Hiram.  "Well,  he  won't  ever  eat  no 
more,  and  that's  something  to  be  thankful  for." 

The  game-cock,  apparently  having  understood  the  word 
to  come  on,  tiptoed  briskly  across  the  garden.  The  other 
waited  his  approach,  craning  his  long  neck  and  twisting  his 
head  from  side  to  side. 

Reeves  was  now  at  the  fence. 

"I'll  bet  ye  ten  dollars,"  shouted  Hiram,  "that  down  goes 
your  hen  the  first  shuffle." 

"You  will,  hey?"  bawled  Reeves,  sarcastically.  "Say, 
you  didn't  bring  them  three  shells  and  rubber  pea  that  you 
used  to  make  your  livin'  with,  did  ye  ?" 

The  old  showman  gasped,  and  his  face  grew  purple.  "I 
licked  him  twenty  years  ago  for  startin'  that  lie  about  me," 
he  said,  bending  blazing  glance  on  the  Cap'n.  "Damn 
the  expense!  I'm  goin'  over  there  and  kill  him!" 

"Wait  till  your  rooster  kills  his,  and  then  take  the  remains 
and  bat  his  brains  out  with  'em,"  advised  the  Cap'n,  swell 
ing  with  equal  wrath.  "Look!  He's  gettin  at  him!" 

P.  T.  put  his  head  close  to  the  ground,  his  ring  of  neck- 
feathers  glistening  in  the  sun,  then  darted  forward,  rising 
in  air  as  he  did  so.  The  other  rooster,  who  had  been  await 
ing  his  approach,  stiffly  erect,  ducked  to  one  side,  and  the 
game-cock  went  hurtling  past. 

"Like  rooster,  like  master!"  Hiram  yelled,  savagely. 
"He's  a  coward.  Why  don't  he  run  and  git  your  brother, 

101 


THE    SKIPPER    AND    THE    SKIPPED 

Alcander,  to  put  P.  T.  under  bonds  to  keep  the  peace  ? 
Yah-h-h-h!    You're  all  cowards." 

The  game-cock,  accustomed  to  meet  the  bravery  of  true 
champions  of  the  pit,  stood  for  a  little  while  and  stared  at 
this  shifty  foe.  He  must  have  decided  that  he  was  dealing 
with  a  poltroon  with  whom  science  and  prudence  were  not 
needed.  He  stuck  out  his  neck  and  ran  at  Long-legs,  evi 
dently  expecting  that  Long-legs  would  turn  and  flee  in  a 
panic.  Long-legs  jumped  to  let  him  pass  under,  and  came 
down  on  the  unwary  P.  T.  with  the  crushing  force  of  his 
double  bulk.  The  splay  feet  flattened  the  game-cock  to  the 
ground,  and,  while  he  lay  there  helpless,  this  victor-by-a- 
fluke  began  to  peck  and  tear  at  his  head  and  comb  in  a  most 
brutal  and  unsportsmanlike  manner. 

With  a  hoarse  howl  of  rage  and  concern,  Hiram  rushed 
across  the  garden,  the  dirt  flying  behind  him.  The  hens 
squawked  and  fled,  and  the  conqueror,  giving  one  startled 
look  at  the  approaching  vengeance,  abandoned  his  victim, 
and  closed  the  line  of  retreat  over  the  fence. 

"He  didn't  git  at  his  eyes,"  shouted  Hiram,  grabbing  up 
his  champion  from  the  dirt,  "but" — making  hasty  survey 
of  the  bleeding  head — "but  the  jeebingoed  cannibal  has  et 
one  gill  and  pretty  near  pecked  his  comb  off.  It  wa'n't 
square!  It  wa'n't  square!"  he  bellowed,  advancing  toward 
the  fence  where  Reeves  was  leaning.  "Ye  tried  to  kill  a 
thousand-dollar  bird  by  a  skin-game,  and  I'll  have  it  out  of 
your  hide." 

Reeves  pulled  a  pole  out  of  the  fence. 

"Don't  ye  come  across  here,"  he  gritted.  "I'll  brain  ye! 
It  was  your  own  rooster-fight.  You  put  it  up.  You  got 
licked.  What's  the  matter  with  you  ?"  A  grin  of  pure 
satisfaction  curled  under  his  beard. 

1 02 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"You  never  heard  of  true  sport.  You  don't  know  what 
it  means.  He  stood  on  him  and  started  to  eat  him.  All  he 
thinks  of  is  eatin'  up  something.  It  wa'n't  fair."  Hiram 
caressed  the  bleeding  head  of  P.  T.  with  quivering  hand. 

"Fair!"  sneered  Reeves.  "You're  talkin'  as  though  this 
was  a  prize-fight  for  the  championship  of  the  world!  My 
—I  mean,  Mis'  Pike's  rooster  licked,  didn't  he  ?  Well, 
when  a  rooster's  licked,  he's  licked,  and  there  ain't  nothin' 
more  to  it." 

"That's  your  idee  of  sport,  is  it?"  demanded  Hiram, 
stooping  to  wipe  his  bloody  hand  on  the  grass. 

"It's  my  idee  of  a  rooster-fight,"  retorted  Reeves.  In  his 
triumph  he  was  not  unwilling  to  banter  repartee  with  the 
hateful  Hiram.  "You  fellers  with  what  you  call  sportin' 
blood" — he  sneered  the  words — "come  along  and  think 
nobody  else  can't  do  anything  right  but  you.  You  fetch 
along  cat-meat  with  feathers  on  it" — he  pointed  at  the  van 
quished  P.  T. — "and  expect  it  to  stand  any  show  with  a  real 
fighter."  Now  he  pointed  to  the  Widow  Pike's  rooster 
sauntering  away  with  his  harem  about  him.  "He  ain't  rid' 
around  with  a  circus  nor  followed  the  sportin'  life,  and 
he's  al'ays  lived  in  the  country  and  minded  his  own  business, 
but  he's  good  for  a  whole  crateful  of  your  sportin'  blooders 
— and  so  long  as  he  licks,  it  don't  make  no  difference  how 
he  does  it." 

The  personal  reference  in  this  little  speech  was  too  plain 
for  Hiram  to  disregard. 

His  hard  eyes  narrowed,  and  hatred  of  this  insolent 
countryman  blazed  there.  The  countryman  glared  back 
with  just  as  fierce  bitterness. 

"Mebbe  you've  got  money  to  back  your  opinion  of  Widder 
Pike's  hen  there  ?"  suggested  the  showman.  "Money's  the 

103 


THE    SKIPPER    AND    THE    SKIPPED 

only  thing  that  seems  to  interest  you,  and  you  don't  seem  to 
care  how  you  make  it." 

Reeves  glanced  from  the  maimed  P.  T.,  gasping  on 
Hiram's  arm,  to  the  victorious  champion  who  had  defeated 
this  redoubtable  bird  so  easily.  His  Yankee  shrewdness 
told  him  that  the  showman  had  undoubtedly  produced  his 
best  for  this  conflict;  his  Yankee  cupidity  hinted  that  by 
taking  advantage  of  Hiram's  present  flustered  state  of  mind 
he  might  turn  a  dollar.  He  glanced  from  Hiram  to  Cap'n 
Sproul,  standing  at  one  side,  and  said  with  careless  supe 
riority: 

"Make  your  talk!" 

"I've  got  five  hundred  that  says  I've  got  the  best  hen." 

"There  ain't  goin'  to  be  no  foolishness  about  rules  and 
sport,  and  hitchin'  and  hawin',  is  there  ?  It's  jest  hen  that 
counts!" 

"Jest  hen!"     Hiram  set  his  teeth  hard. 

"Five  hundred  it  is,"  agreed  Reeves.  "But  I  need  a 
fortni't  to  collect  in  some  that's  due  me.  Farmin'  ain't 
such  ready-money  as  the  circus  bus'ness." 

"Take  your  fortni't!  And  we'll  settle  place  later.  And 
that's  all,  'cause  it  makes  me  sick  to  stand  anywhere  within 
ten  feet  of  you." 

Hiram  strode  away  across  the  fields,  his  wounded  gladi 
ator  on  his  arm. 

And,  as  it  was  near  dinner-time,  Cap'n  Sproul  trudged 
into  his  own  house,  his  mien  thoughtful  and  his  air  sub 
dued. 

On  his  next  visit  to  Hiram,  the  Cap'n  didn't  know  which 
was  the  most  preoccupied — the  showman  sitting  in  the  barn 
door  at  Imogene's  feet,  or  the  battered  P.  T.  propped  dis 
consolately  on  one  leg.  Both  were  gazing  at  the  ground 

104 


THE    SKIPPER    AND    THE    SKIPPED 

with  far-away  stare,  and  Hiram  was  not  much  more  con 
versational  than  the  rooster. 

The  next  day  Hiram  drove  into  the  Sproul  dooryard  and 
called  out  the  Cap'n,  refusing  to  get  out  of  his  wagon. 

"I  shall  be  away  a  few  days — mebbe  more,  mebbe  less. 
I  leave  time  and  place  to  you."  And  he  slashed  at  his  horse 
and  drove  away. 


X 

T  was  certainly  a  queer  place  that  Cap'n  Sproul  de 
cided  upon  after  several  days  of  rumination.  His 
own  abstraction  during  that  time,  and  the  unex 
plained  absence  of  Hiram,  the  bridegroom  of  a 
month,  an  absence  that  was  prolonged  into  a  week, 
caused  secret  tears  and  apprehensive  imaginings  in  both 
households. 

Hiram  came  back,  mysterious  as  the  Sphinx. 
Cap'n  Sproul  arranged  for  a  secret  meeting  of  the  princi 
pals  behind  his  barn,  and  announced  his  decision  as  to  place. 
"The  poor-farm!"  both  snorted  in  unison.  "What — 
"Hold  right  on!"  interrupted  the  Cap'n,  holding  up  his 
broad  palms;  "it  can't  be  in  his  barn  on  account  of  his  wife; 
it  can't  be  in  my  barn  on  account  of  my  wife.  Both  of  'em 
are  all  wrought  up  and  suspectin'  somethin*.  Some  old 
pick-ed  nose  in  this  place  is  bound  to  see  us  if  we  try  to 
sneak  away  into  the  woods.  Jim  Wixon,  the  poor-farm 
keeper,  holds  his  job  through  me.  He's  square,  straight, 
and  minds  his  own  business.  I  can  depend  on  him.  He'll 
hold  the  stakes.  There  ain't  another  man  in  town  we  can 
trust.  There  ain't  a  place  as  safe  as  the  poor-farm  barn. 
Folks  don't  go  hangin'  round  a  poor-farm  unless  they  have 
to.  It's  for  there  the  ev'nin'  before  the  Fourth.  Agree,  or 
count  me  out.  The  first  selectman  of  this  town  can't  afford 
to  take  too  many  chances,  aidin'  and  abettin'  a  hen-fight." 

1 06 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Therefore  there  was  nothing  else  for  it.  The  principals 
accepted  sullenly,  and  went  their  ways. 

The  taciturnity  of  Hiram  Look  was  such  during  the  few 
days  before  the  meeting  that  Cap'n  Sproul  regretfully  con 
cluded  to  keep  to  his  own  hearthstone.  Hiram  seemed  to 
be  nursing  a  secret.  The  Cap'n  felt  hurt,  and  admitted  as 
much  to  himself  in  his  musings. 

He  went  alone  to  the  rendezvous  at  early  dusk.  Keeper 
Wixon,  of  the  poor-farm,  had  the  big  floor  of  the  barn  nicely 
swept,  had  hung  lanterns  about  on  the  wooden  harness- 
pegs,  and  was  in  a  state  of  great  excitement  and  impatience. 

Second  Selectman  Reeves  came  first,  lugging  his  crate 
from  his  beach-wagon.  The  crate  held  the  Widow  Pike's 
rooster.  His  nomination  had  his  head  up  between  the 
slats,  and  was  crowing  regularly  and  raucously. 

"Choke  that  dam  fog-horn  off!"  commanded  the  Cap'n. 
"What  are  ye  tryin'  to  do,  advertise  this  sociable  ?" 

"You  talk  like  I  was  doin'  that  crowin'  myself,"  returned 
Reeves,  sulkily.  "And  nobody  ain't  goin'  to  squat  his 
wizen  and  git  him  out  of  breath.  Hands  off,  and  a  fail- 
show!" 

Hiram  Look  was  no  laggard  at  the  meeting.  He  rumbled 
into  the  yard  on  the  box  of  one  of  his  animal  cages,  pulled 
out  a  huge  bag  containing  something  that  kicked  and  wrig 
gled,  and  deposited  his  burden  on  the  barn  floor. 

"Now,"  said  he,  brusquely,  "business  before  pleasure! 
You've  got  the  stakes,  eh,  Wixon  ?" 

"In  my  wallet  here — a  thousand  dollars,"  replied  the 
keeper,  a  little  catch  in  his  voice  at  thought  of  the  fortune 
next  his  anxious  heart. 

"And  the  best  hen  takes  the  money;  no  flummery,  no 
filigree!"  put  in  Reeves. 

107 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Hiram  was  kneeling  beside  his  agitated  bag,  and  was 
picking  at  the  knots  in  its  fastening.  "This  will  be  a  hen- 
fight  served  up  Smyrna  style,"  he  said,  grimly.  "And,  as 
near  as  I  can  find  out,  that  style  is  mostly — scrambled!" 

"I've  got  a  favor  to  ask,"  stammered  Wixon,  hesitatingly. 
"It  don't  mean  much  to  you,  but  it  means  a  good  deal 
to  others.  Bein'  penned  up  on  a  poor-farm,  with  nothin' 
except  three  meals  a  day  to  take  up  your  mind,  is  pretty 
tough  on  them  as  have  seen  better  days.  I'll  leave  it  to 
Cap'n  Sproul,  here,  if  I  ain't  tried  to  put  a  little  kindness 
and  human  feelin'  into  runnin'  this  place,  and — 

Hiram  was  untying  the  last  knot.  "Spit  out  what  you're 
drivin'  at,"  he  cried  bluntly;  "this  ain't  no  time  for  side 
show  barkin'.  The  big  show  is  about  to  begin." 

"I  want  to  invite  in  the  boys,"  blurted  Wixon.  And 
when  they  blinked  at  him  amazedly,  he  said: 

"The  five  old  fellers  that's  here,  I  mean.  They're  safe 
and  mum,  and  they're  jest  dyin'  for  a  little  entertainment, 
and  it's  only  kindness  to  them  that's  unfortunate,  if  you — 

"What  do  you  think  this  is,  a  livin'-picture  show  got  up 
to  amuse  a  set  of  droolin'  old  paupers  ?"  demanded  Hiram, 
with  heat. 

"Well,  as  it  is,  they  suspect  suthin',"  persisted  Wixon. 
"All  they  have  to  do  to  pass  time  is  to  suspect  and  projick 
on  what's  goin'  on  and  what's  goin'  to  happen.  If  you'll 
let  me  bring  'em,  I  can  shet  their  mouths.  If  they  don't 
come  in,  they're  goin'  to  suspect  suthin'  worse  than  what  it 
is — and  that's  only  human  natur' — and  not  to  blame  for  it." 

The  two  selectmen  protested,  official  alarm  in  their  faces, 
but  Hiram  suddenly  took  the  keeper's  side,  after  the  manner 
of  his  impetuous  nature,  and  after  he  had  shrewdly  noted 
that  Reeves  seemed  to  be  most  alarmed. 

108 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"I'm  the  challenger,"  he  roared.  "I've  got  something 
to  say.  Bring  'em,  Wixon.  Let  'em  have  a  taste  of  fun. 
I  may  wind  up  on  the  poor-farm  myself.  Bring  'em  in. 
There's  prob'ly  more  sportin'  blood  in  the  paupers  of  this 
town  than  in  the  citizens.  Bring  'em  in,  and  let's  have 
talkin'  done  with." 

In  a  suspiciously  short  time  Wixon  led  in  his  charges — 
five  hobbling  old  men,  all  chewing  tobacco  and  looking 
wondrously  interested. 

"There!"  said  Hiram,  an  appreciative  glint  in  his  eyes. 
"Nothin'  like  havin'  an  audience,  even  if  they  did  come  in 
on  passes.  I've  never  given  a  show  before  empty  benches 
yet.  And  now,  gents" — the  old  spirit  of  the  "barker" 
entered  into  him — "you  are  about  to  behold  a  moral  and 
elevatin'  exhibition  of  the  wonders  of  natur'.  I  have  ex 
plored  the  jungles  of  Palermo,  the  hills  of  Peru  Corners,  the 
valleys  of  North  Belgrade,  never  mindin'  time  and  expense, 
and  I've  got  something  that  beats  the  wild  boy  Tom  and 
his  little  sister  Mary.  Without  takin'  more  of  your  valuable 
time,  I  will  now  present  to  your  attention" — he  tore  open 
the  bag — "Cap'n  Kidd,  the  Terror  of  the  Mountains." 

The  wagging  jaws  of  the  old  paupers  stopped  as  if  petri 
fied.  Keeper  Wixon  peered  under  his  hand  and  retreated 
a  few  paces.  Even  doughty  Cap'n  Sproul,  accustomed  to 
the  marvels  of  land  and  sea,  snapped  his  eyes.  As  for 
Reeves,  he  gasped  "Great  gorlemity!"  under  his  breath,  and 
sat  down  on  the  edge  of  his  crate,  as  though  his  legs  had 
given  out. 

The  creature  that  rose  solemnly  up  from  the  billowing 
folds  of  the  bagging  had  a  head  as  smooth  and  round  as  a 
door-knob,  dangling,  purple  wattles  under  its  bill,  and  breast 
of  a  sanguinary  red,  picked  clean  of  feathers.  There  were 

109 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

not  many  feathers  on  the  fowl,  anyway.  Its  tail  was  merely 
a  spreading  of  quills  like  spikes.  It  was  propped  on  legs 
like  stilts,  and  when  it  stretched  to  crow  it  stood  up  as  tall 
as  a  yard-stick. 

"Let  out  your  old  doostrabulus,  there!"  Hiram  com 
manded. 

"That  ain't  no  hen,"  wailed  his  adversary. 

"It's  got  two  legs,  a  bill,  and  a  place  for  tail-feathers,  and 
that's  near  enough  to  a  hen  for  fightin'  purposes  in  this 
town — accordin'  to  what  I've  seen  of  the  sport  here,"  in 
sisted  the  showman.  "The  principal  hen-fightin'  science  in 
Smyrna  seems  to  be  to  stand  on  t'other  hen  and  peck  him 
to  pieces!  Well,  Reeves,  Cap'n  Kidd  there  ain't  got  so 
much  pedigree  as  some  I've  owned,  but  as  a  slander  and 
pecker  I'm  thinkin'  he'll  give  a  good,  fair  account  of  him 
self." 

"It's  a  gum-game,"  protested  Reeves,  agitatedly,  "and 
I  ain't  goin'  to  fight  no  ostrich  nor  hen-hawk." 

"Then  I'll  take  the  stakes  without  further  wear  or  tear," 
said  Hiram.  "Am  I  right,  boys?"  A  unanimous  chorus 
indorsed  him.  "And  this  here  is  something  that  I  reckon 
ye  won't  go  to  law  about,"  the  showman  went  on,  omi 
nously,  "even  if  you  have  got  a  lawyer  in  the  family. 
You  ketch,  don't  you  ?" 

The  unhappy  second  selectman  realized  his  situation, 
sighed,  and  pried  a  slat  off  the  crate.  His  nomination  was 
more  sanguine  than  he.  The  rooster  hopped  upon  the 
crate,  crowed,  and  stalked  out  onto  the  barn  floor  with  a 
confidence  that  made  Reeves  perk  up  courage  a  bit. 

Cap'n  Kidd  showed  abstraction  rather  than  zeal.  He 
was  busily  engaged  in  squinting  along  his  warty  legs,  and  at 
last  detected  two  or  three  objects  that  were  annoying  him. 

no 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

He  picked  them  off  leisurely.  Then  he  ran  his  stiff 
and  scratchy  wing  down  his  leg,  yawned,  and  seemed 
bored. 

When  the  other  rooster  ran  across  and  pecked  him 
viciously  on  his  red  expanse  of  breast,  he  cocked  his  head 
sideways  and  looked  down  wonderingly  on  this  rude  assail 
ant.  Blood  trickled  from  the  wound,  and  Reeves  giggled 
nervously.  Cap'n  Sproul  muttered  something  and  looked 
apprehensive,  but  Hiram,  his  eyes  hard  and  his  lips  set, 
crouched  at  the  side  of  the  floor,  and  seemed  to  be  waiting 
confidently. 

Widow  Pike's  favorite  stepped  back,  rapped  his  bill  on 
the  floor  several  times,  and  then  ran  at  his  foe  once  more. 
A  second  trail  of  blood  followed  his  blow.  This  time  the 
unknown  ducked  his  knobby  head  at  the  attacker.  It 
looked  like  a  blow  with  a  slung-shot.  But  it  missed,  and 
Reeves  tittered  again. 

"Fly  up  and  peck  his  eye  out,  Pete!"  he  called,  cheerily. 

It  is  not  likely  that  Peter  understood  this  adjuration, 
notwithstanding  Cap'n  Sproul's  gloomy  convictions  on  that 
score  in  the  past.  But,  apparently  having  tested  the  courage 
of  this  enemy,  he  changed  his  tactics,  leaped,  and  flew  at 
Cap'n  Kidd  with  spurring  feet. 

Then  it  happened! 

It  happened  almost  before  the  little  group  of  spectators 
could  gasp. 

Cap'n  Kidd  threw  himself  back  on  the  bristling  spines 
of  his  tail,  both  claws  off  the  floor.  Peter's  spurring  feet 
met  only  empty  air,  and  he  fell  on  the  foe. 

Foe's  splay  claws  grabbed  him  around  the  neck  and 
clutched  him  like  a  vise,  shutting  off  his  last,  startled  squawk. 
Then  Cap'n  Kidd  darted  forward  that  knobby  head  with 

in 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

its  ugly  beak,  and  tore  off  Peter's  caput  with  one  mighty 
wrench. 

"  'Tain't  fair!  It's  jest  as  I  said  it  was!  'Tain't  square!" 
screamed  Reeves. 

But  Hiram  strode  forward,  snapping  authoritative  fingers 
under  Wixon's  nose.  "Hand  me  that  money!"  he  gritted, 
and  Wixon,  his  eyes  on  the  unhappy  bird  writhing  in  Cap'n 
Kidd's  wicked  grasp,  made  no  demur.  The  showman  took 
it,  even  as  the  maddened  Reeves  was  clutching  for  the 
packet,  tucked  it  into  his  breast  pocket,  and  drove  the 
second  selectman  back  with  a  mighty  thrust  of  his  arm. 
The  selectman  stumbled  over  the  combatants  and  sat  down 
with  a  shock  that  clicked  his  teeth.  Cap'n  Kidd  fled  from 
under,  and  flew  to  a  high  beam. 

"He  ain't  a  hen!"  squalled  Reeves. 

At  that  moment  the  barn  door  was  opened  from  the  out 
side,  and  through  this  exit  Cap'n  Kidd  flapped  with  hoarse 
cries,  whether  of  triumph  or  fright  no  one  could  say. 

The  lanterns'  light  shone  on  Widow  Sidenia  Pike,  her  face 
white  from  the  scare  "Cap'n  Kidd's"  rush  past  her  head 
had  given  her,  but  with  determination  written  large  in  her 
features. 

She  gazed  long  at  Reeves,  sitting  on  the  floor  beside 
the  defunct  rooster.  She  pointed  an  accusatory  finger 
at  it. 

"Mr.  Reeves,"  she  said,  "you've  been  lyin'  to  me  two 
weeks,  tryin'  to  buy  that  rooster  that  I  wouldn't  sell  no 
more'n  I'd  sell  my  first  husband's  gravestun'.  And  when 
you  couldn't  git  it  by  lyin',  you  stole  it  ofF'm  the  roost 
to-night.  And  to  make  sure  there  won't  be  any  more  lies, 
I've  followed  you  right  here  to  find  out  the  truth.  Now 
what  does  this  mean  ?" 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

There  was  a  soulful  pause. 

"Lie  in  small  things,  lie  in  big!"  she  snapped.  "I  reckon 
I've  found  ye  out  for  a  missabul  thing!" 

Hiram,  standing  back  in  the  shadows,  nudged  Cap'n 
Sproul  beside  him,  and  wagged  his  head  toward  the  open 
door.  They  went  out  on  tiptoe. 

"If  he  wants  to  lie  some  more,  our  bein'  round  might 
embarrass  him,"  whispered  Hiram.  "I  never  like  to  em 
barrass  a  man  when  he's  down — and — and  her  eyes  was 
so  much  on  Reeves  and  the  rooster  I  don't  believe  she 
noticed  us.  And  what  she  don't  know  won't  hurt  her  none. 
But" — he  yawned — "I  shouldn't  be  a  mite  surprised  if 
another  one  of  Bat  Reeves's  engagements  was  busted  in  this 
town.  He  don't  seem  to  have  no  luck  at  all  in  marryin' 
farms  with  the  wimmen  throwed  in."  The  Cap'n  didn't 
appear  interested  in  Reeves's  troubles.  His  eyes  were 
searching  the  dim  heavens. 

"What  do  you  call  that  thing  you  brought  in  the  bag?" 
he  demanded. 

"Blamed  if  I  know!"  confessed  Hiram,  climbing  upon 
his  chariot.  "And  I'm  pretty  well  up  on  freaks,  too,  as  a 
circus  man  ought  to  be.  I  jest  went  out  huntin'  for  suthin' 
to  fit  in  with  the  sportin'  blood  as  I  found  it  in  this  place — 
and  I  reckon  I  got  it!  Mebbe  'twas  a  cassowary,  mebbe 
'twas  a  dodo — the  man  himself  didn't  know — said  even  the 
hen  that  hatched  it  didn't  seem  to  know.  'Pologized  to 
me  for  asking  me  two  dollars  for  it,  and  I  gave  him  five.  I 
hope  it  will  go  back  where  it  come  from.  It  hurt  my  eyes 
to  look  at  it.  But  it  was  a  good  bargain!"  He  patted  his 
breast  pocket. 

"Come  over  to-morrow,"  he  called  to  the  Cap'n  as  he 
drove  away.  "I  sha'n't  have  so  much  on  my  mind,  and 

"3 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

I'll    be    a    little    more    sociable!     Listen    to   that    bagpipe 
selection!" 

Behind  them  they  heard  the  whining  drone  of  a  man's 
pleading  voice  and  a  woman's  shrill,  insistent  tones,  a 
monotony  of  sound  flowing  on — and  on — and  on! 


XI 


president  of  the  "Smyrna  Agricultural 
Fair  and  Gents'  Driving  Association"  had 
been  carrying  something  on  his  mind  through 
out  the  meeting  of  the  trustees  of  the  society 
—  the  last  meeting  before  the  date  advertised 
for  the  fair.  And  now,  not  without  a  bit  of  apprehensive- 
ness,  he  let  it  out. 

"I've  invited  the  Honer'ble  J.  Percival  Bickford  to  act 
as  the  starter  and  one  of  the  judges  of  the  races,"  he  an 
nounced. 

Trustee  Silas  Wallace,  superintendent  of  horses,  had  put 
on  his  hat.     Now  he  took  it  off  again. 
"What!"  he  almost  squalled. 

"You  see,"  explained  the  president,  with  eager  concilia- 
toriness,  "we've  only  got  to  scratch  his  back  just  a  little  to 
have  him  — 

"Why,  'Kittle-belly'  Bickford  don't  know  no  more  about 
hoss-trottin'  than  a  goose  knows  about  the  hard-shell  Bap 
tist  doctrine,"  raved  Wallace,  his  little  eyes  popping  like 
marbles. 

"  I  don't  like  to  hear  a  man  that's  done  so  much  for  his 
native  town  called  by  any  such  names,"  retorted  the  presi 
dent,  ready  to  show  temper  himself,  to  hide  his  embarrass 
ment.  "He's  come  back  here  and  — 

Trustee  Wallace  now  stood  up  and  cracked   his   bony 
9  115 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

knuckles  on  the  table,  his  weazened  face  puckered  with 
angry  ridges. 

"I  don't  need  to  have  a  printed  catalogue  of  what  Jabe 
Bickford  has  done  for  this  town.  And  I  don't  need  to  be 
told  what  he's  done  it  for.  He's  come  back  from  out  West, 
where  he  stole  more  money  than  he  knew  what  to  do  with, 
and—" 

"I  protest!"  cried  President  Thurlow  Kitchen.  "When 
you  say  that  the  Honer'ble  J.  Percival  Bickford  has 
stolen — " 

"Well,  promoted  gold-mines,  then!  It's  only  more  words 
to  say  the  same  thing.  And  he's  back  here  spendin'  his 
loose  change  for  daily  doses  of  hair-oil  talk  fetched  to  him 
by  the  beggin'  old  suckers  of  this  place." 

"I  may  be  a  beggin'  old  sucker,"  flared  the  president, 
"but  I've  had  enterprise  enough  and  interest  in  this  fair 
enough  to  get  Mr.  Bickford  to  promise  us  a  present  of  a  new 
exhibition  hall,  and  it's  only  right  to  extend  some  courtesy 
to  him  in  return." 

"It  was  all  right  to  make  him  president  of  the  lib'ry  asso 
ciation  when  he  built  the  lib'ry,  make  him  a  deacon  when 
he  gave  the  organ  for  the  meetin'-house,  give  him  a  banquet 
and  nineteen  speeches  tellin'  him  he  was  the  biggest  man  on 
earth  when  he  put  the  stone  watering-trough  in — all  that 
was  all  right  for  them  that  thought  it  was  all  right.  But 
when  you  let  'Kittle-belly'  Bickford — 

"Don't  you  call  him  that,"  roared  President  Kitchen, 
thumping  the  table. 

"Duke,  then!  Dammit,  crown  him  lord  of  all!  But 
when  you  let  him  hang  that  pod  of  his  out  over  the  rail  of 
that  judges'  stand  and  bust  up  a  hoss-trot  programmy  that 
I've  been  three  months  gettin'  entries  for — and  all  jest  so 

116 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

he  can  show  off  a  white  vest  and  a  plug  hat  and  a  new  gold 
stop-watch  and  have  the  band  play  'Hail  to  the  Chief — I 
don't  stand  for  it — no,  sir!" 

"The  trouble  is  with  you,"  retorted  the  president  with 
spirit,  "you've  razoo-ed  and  hoss-jockeyed  so  long  you've 
got  the  idea  that  all  there  is  to  a  fair  is  a  plug  of  chaw- 
tobacco,  a  bag  of  peanuts,  and  a  posse  of  nose-whistlin'  old 
pelters  skatin'  round  a  half-mile  track." 

"And  you  and  '  Kit' — you  and  Duke  Jabe,  leave  you  alone 
to  run  a  fair — wouldn't  have  northin'  but  his  new  exhibition 
hall  filled  with  croshayed  tidies  and  hooked  rugs." 

"Well,  I  move,"  broke  in  Trustee  Dunham,  "that  we  git 
som'ers.  I'm  personally  in  favor  of  pleasin'  Honer'ble 
Bickford  and  takin'  the  exhibition  hall." 

"That's  right!  That's  business!"  came  decisive  chorus 
from  the  other  three  trustees.  "Let's  take  the  hall." 

Wallace  doubled  his  gaunt  form,  propped  himself  on  the 
table  by  his  skinny  arms,  and  stared  from  face  to  face  in 
disgust  unutterable. 

"Take  it?"  he  sneered.  "Why,  you'll  take  anything! 
You're  takin'  up  the  air  in  this  room,  like  pumpin'  up  a 
sulky  tire,  and  ain't  lettin'  it  out  again!  Good-day!  I'm 
goin'  out  where  I  can  get  a  full  breath." 

He  whirled  on  them  at  the  door. 

"But  you  hark  to  what  I'm  predictin'  to  you!  If  you 
don't  wish  the  devil  had  ye  before  you're  done  with  that  old 
balloon  with  a  plug  hat  on  it  in  your  judges'  stand,  then  I'll 
trot  an  exhibition  half  mile  on  my  hands  and  knees  against 
Star  Pointer  for  a  bag  of  oats.  And  I'm  speakin'  for  all  the 
hossmen  in  this  county." 

When  this  uncomfortable  Jeremiah  had  departed,  leav 
ing  in  his  wake  a  trailing  of  oaths  and  a  bouquet  of  stable 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

aroma,  the  trustees  showed  relief,  even  if  enthusiasm  was 
notably  absent. 

"It's  going  to  raise  the  tone  of  the  fair,  having  him  in  the 
stand — there  ain't  any  getting  round  that,"  said  the  presi 
dent.  "The  notion  seemed  to  strike  him  mighty  favorable. 
'It's  an  idea!' said  he  to  me.  'Yes,  a  real  idea.  I  will  have 
other  prominent  gentlemen  to  serve  with  me,  and  we  will 
be  announced  as  paytrons  of  the  races.  That  will  sound 
well,  I  think.'  And  he  asked  me  what  two  men  in  town  was 
best  fixed  financially,  and,  of  course,  I  told  him  Cap'n  Aaron 
Sproul,  our  first  selectman,  and  Hiram  Look.  He  said  he 
hadn't  been  in  town  long  enough  to  get  real  well  acquainted 
with  either  of  them  yet,  but  hoped  they  were  gentlemen.  I 
told  him  they  were.  I  reckon  that  being  skipper  of  a  ship 
and  ownin'  a  circus  stands  as  high  as  the  gold-mine  business." 

"Well,"  said  one  of  the  trustees,  with  some  venom,  "  Jabe 
Bickford  is  doin'  a  good  deal  for  this  town,  one  way  and 
another,  but  he  wants  to  remember  that  his  gran'ther  had 
to  call  on  us  for  town  aid,  and  that  there  wa'n't  nary  ever 
another  Bickford  that  lived  in  this  town  or  went  out  of  it, 
except  Jabe,  that  could  get  trusted  for  a  barrel  of  flour. 
Puttin'  on  his  airs  out  West  is  all  right,  but  puttin'  'em  on 
here  to  home,  among  us  that  knows  him  and  all  his  breed, 
is  makin'  some  of  the  old  residents  kind  of  sick.  Si  Wallace 
hadn't  ought  to  call  him  by  that  name  he  did,  but  Si  is  talkin' 
the  way  a  good  many  feel." 

"If  an  angel  from  heaven  should  descend  on  this  town 
with  the  gift  of  abidin'  grace,"  said  President  Kitchen,  sar 
castically,  "a  lot  of  folks  here  would  get  behind  his  back 
and  make  faces  at  him." 

" Prob'ly  would,"  returned  the  trustee,  imperturbably,  "if 
said  angel  wore  a  plug  hat  and  kid  gloves  from  mornin'  till 

118 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

night,  said  'Me  good  man'  to  old  codgers  who  knowed  him 
when  he  had  stone-bruises  on  his  heels  as  big  as  pigeon's 
aigs,  and  otherwise  acted  as  though  he  was  cream  and  every 
one  else  was  buttermilk." 

"Well,  when  some  of  the  rest  of  you  have  done  as  much 
for  this  town  as  Honer'ble  Bickford,"  broke  in  the  president, 
testily,  "you  can  have  the  right  to  criticise.  As  it  is,  I  can't 
see  anything  but  jealousy  in  it.  And  I've  heard  enough  of 
it.  Now,  to  make  this  thing  all  pleasant  and  agreeable  to 
the  Honer'ble  Bickford,  we've  got  to  have  Cap'n  Sproul  and 
Hiram  Look  act  as  judges  with  him.  'Tis  a  vote!  Now, 
who  will  see  Cap'n  Sproul  and — " 

"Considerin'  what  has  happened  to  those  who  have  in 
times  past  tried  to  notify  Cap'n  Sproul  of  honors  tendered 
to  him  in  this  town,  you'd  better  pick  out  some  one  who 
knows  how  to  use  the  wireless  telegraph,"  suggested  one  of 
the  trustees. 

"There  won't  be  any  trouble  in  gettin'  Hiram  Look  to 
act,"  said  the  president.  "He's  just  enough  of  a  circus 
feller  to  like  to  stand  up  before  the  crowd  and  show  au 
thority.  Well,  then" — the  president's  wits  were  sharpened 
by  his  anxiety  over  the  proposed  exhibition  hall — "let 
Mr.  Look  arrange  it  with  Cap'n  Sproul.  They're  suckin' 
cider  through  the  same  straw  these  days." 

And  this  suggestion  was  so  eminently  good  that  the  meet 
ing  adjourned  in  excellent  humor  that  made  light  of  all  the 
gloomy  prognostications  of  Trustee  Wallace. 

As  though  good-fortune  were  in  sooth  ruling  the  affairs 
of  the  Smyrna  A.  F.  &  G.  D.  A.,  Hiram  Look  came  driving 
past  as  the  trustees  came  out  of  the  tavern,  their  meeting- 
place. 

He  stroked  his  long  mustache  and  listened.  At  first  his 

119 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

silk  hat  stuck  up  rigidly,  but  soon  it  began  to  nod  gratified 
assent. 

"I  don't  know  much  about  hoss-trottin'  rules,  but  a 
man  that's  been  in  the  show  business  for  thirty  years  has 
got  enough  sportin'  blood  in  him  for  the  job,  I  reckon. 
Bickford  and  Sproul,  hey?  Why,  yes!  I'll  hunt  up  the 
Cap,  and  take  him  over  to  Bickford's,  and  we'll  settle  pre 
liminaries,  or  whatever  the  hoss-talk  is  for  gettin'  together. 
I'd  rather  referee  a  prize-fight,  but  you're  too  dead  up  this 
way  for  real  sport  to  take  well.  Nothing  been  said  to 
Sproul  ?  All  right!  I'll  fix  him." 

Cap'n  Sproul  was  in  his  garden,  surveying  the  growing 
"sass"  with  much  content  of  spirit.  He  cheerfully  ac 
cepted  Hiram's  invitation  to  take  a  ride,  destination  not 
mentioned,  and  they  jogged  away  toward  "Bickburn 
Towers,"  as  the  Honorable  J.  Percival  had  named  the  re 
modelled  farm-house  of  his  ancestors. 

Hiram,  whose  gift  was  language,  impetuous  in  flow  and 
convincing  in  argument,  whether  as  barker  or  friend,  con 
veyed  the  message  of  the  trustees  to  Cap'n  Sproul.  But  the 
first  selectman  of  Smyrna  did  not  display  enthusiasm.  He 
scowled  at  the  buggy  dasher  and  was  silent. 

"Men  that  have  been  out  and  about,  like  you  and  I  have 
been,  need  something  once  in  a  while  to  break  the  monotony 
of  country  life,"  concluded  Hiram,  slashing  his  whip  at  the 
wayside  alders. 

"You  and  me  and  him,"  observed  the  Cap'n,  with  sullen 
prod  of  his  thumb  in  direction  of  the  "gingerbready"  tower 
of  the  Bickford  place  rising  over  the  ridge,  "marooned  in 
that  judges'  stand  like  penguins  on  a  ledge — we'll  be  li'ble 
to  break  the  monotony.  Oh  yes!  There  ain't  no  doubt 
about  that." 

120 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"Why,  there'll  be  northin'  to  it!"  blustered  Hiram,  en 
couragingly.  "I'll  swear  'em  into  line,  you  holler  'Go!'  and 
the  Honer'ble  Bickford  will  finger  that  new  gold  stop-watch 
of  his  and  see  how  fast  they  do  it.  Northin'  to  it,  I  say!" 

"This  is  the  blastedest  town  a  man  ever  settled  down  in 
to  spend  his  last  days  in  peace  and  quietness,"  growled  the 
Cap'n.  "There's  a  set  of  men  here  that  seem  to  be  per- 
fickly  happy  so  long  as  they're  rollin'  up  a  gob  of  trouble, 
sloppin'  a  little  sweet-oil  and  molasses  on  the  outside  and 
foolin'  some  one  into  swallerin'  it.  I  tell  ye,  Look,  I've 
lived  here  a  little  longer  than  you  have,  and  when  you  see 
a  man  comin'  to  offer  you  what  they  call  an  honor,  kick 
him  on  general  principles,  and  kick  him  hard." 

"Doctors  ought  to  be  willin'  to  take  their  own  medicine," 
retorted  Hiram,  grimly.  "Here  you  be,  first  selec'man 
and — 

"They  caught  me  when  I  wa'n't  lookin' — not  bein'  used 
to  the  ways  of  land-piruts,"  replied  the  Cap'n,  gloomily. 
"I  was  tryin'  to  warn  you  as  one  that's  been  ahead  and 
knows." 

"Why,  that's  just  what  I  like  about  this  town,"  blurted 
Hiram,  undismayed.  "When  I  came  home  to  Palermo  a 
year  ago  or  so,  after  all  my  wanderin's,  they  wouldn't  elect 
me  so  much  as  hog-reeve — seemed  to  be  down  on  me  all 
'round.  But  here — heard  what  they  did  last  night  ?" 
There  was  pride  in  his  tones.  "They  elected  me  foreman 
of  the  Smyrna  Ancient  and  Honer'ble  Firemen's  Asso 
ciation." 

"And  you  let  'em  hornswoggle  you  into  takin'  it?"  de 
manded  the  Cap'n. 

"Leather  buckets,  piazzy  hat,  speakin'-trumpet,  bed- 
wrench,  and  puckerin'-string  bag  are  in  my  front  hall  this 

121 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

minit,"  said  Hiram,  cheerily,  "and  the  wife  is  gittin'  the 
stuff  together  for  the  feed  and  blow-out  next  week.  I'm 
goin'  to  do  it  up  brown!" 

The  Cap'n  opened  his  mouth  as  though  to  enter  upon 
revelations.  But  he  shut  it  without  a  word. 

"It  ain't  no  use,"  he  reflected,  his  mind  bitter  with  the 
memories  of  his  own  occupancy  of  that  office.  "It's  like 
the  smallpox  and  the  measles;  you've  got  to  have  a  run  of 
'em  yourself  before  you're  safe  from  ketchin'  'em." 

The  Honorable  J.  Percival  Bickford,  rotund  and  suave 
with  the  mushiness  of  the  near-gentleman,  met  them  gra 
ciously  in  the  hall,  having  waited  for  the  servant  to  announce 
them. 

Hiram  did  most  of  the  talking,  puffing  at  one  of  the  host's 
long  cigars.  Cap'n  Sproul  sat  on  the  edge  of  a  spider- 
legged  chair,  great  unhappiness  on  his  countenance.  Mr. 
Bickford  was  both  charmed  and  delighted,  so  he  said, 
by  their  acceptance,  and  made  it  known  that  he  had  sug 
gested  them,  in  his  anxiety  to  have  only  gentlemen  of  stand 
ing  associated  with  him. 

"As  the  landed  proprietors  of  the  town,  as  you  might 
say,"  he  observed,  "it  becomes  us  as  due  our  position  to 
remove  ourselves  a  little  from  the  herd.  In  the  judges' 
stand  we  can,  as  you  might  say,  be  patrons  of  the  sports  of 
the  day,  without  loss  of  dignity.  I  believe — and  this  is  also 
my  suggestion — that  the  trustees  are  to  provide  an  open 
barouche,  and  we  will  be  escorted  from  the  gate  to  the 
stand  by  a  band  of  music.  That  will  be  nice.  And 
when  it  is  over  we  will  award  the  prizes,  as  I  believe 
they  call  it — 

"Announce  winners  of  heats  and  division  of  purses,"  cor 
rected  Hiram,  out  of  his  greater  knowledge  of  sporting 

122 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

affairs.  "I'll  do  that  through  a  megaphone.  When  I 
barked  in  front  of  my  show  you  could  hear  me  a  mile." 

"It  will  all  be  very  nice,"  said  Mr.  Bickford,  daintily 
flecking  cigar  ash  from  his  glorious  white  waistcoat.  "Er — 
by  the  way — I  see  that  you  customarily  wear  a  silk  hat, 
Mr.  Look." 

"It  needs  a  plug  hat,  a  lemon,  and  a  hunk  of  glass  to  run 
a  circus,"  said  the  ex-showman. 

"Yes,  men  may  say  what  they  like,  Mr.  Look,  the  people 
expect  certain  things  in  the  way  of  garb  from  those  whom 
they  honor  with  position.  Er — do  you  wear  a  silk  hat  offi 
cially,  Captain  Sproul,  as  selectman  ?" 

"Not  by  a — never  had  one  of  the  things  on!"  replied  the 
Cap'n,  moderating  his  first  indignant  outburst. 

"I'm  going  to  do  you  a  bit  of  neighborly  kindness,"  said 
Mr.  Bickford,  blandly.  "James,"  he  called  to  the  servant, 
"bring  the  brown  bandbox  in  the  hall  closet.  It's  one  of 
my  hats,"  he  explained.  "I  have  several.  You  may  wear 
it  in  the  stand,  with  my  compliments,  Captain  Sproul. 
Then  we'll  be  three  of  a  kind,  eh  ?  Ha,  ha!" 

The  Cap'n  licked  his  lips  as  though  fever  burned  there, 
and  worked  his  Adam's  apple  vigorously.  Probably  if  he 
had  been  in  the  accustomed  freedom  of  outdoors  he  would 
have  sworn  soulfully  and  smashed  the  bandbox  over  the 
Honorable  J.  Percival's  bald  head.  Now,  in  the  stilted  con 
fines  of  that  ornate  parlor,  he  nursed  the  bandbox  on  his 
knees,  as  part  of  the  rest  of  the  spider-legged  and  frail  sur 
roundings.  When  they  retired  to  their  team  he  carried  the 
bandbox  held  gingerly  out  in  front  of  him,  tiptoeing  across 
the  polished  floor. 

"What?  Me  wear  that  bird-cage?"  he  roared,  when 
they  were  out  of  hearing.  "Not  by  the  great  jeehookibus!" 

123 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"Yes,  you  will,"  returned  Hiram,  with  the  calm  insistence 
of  a  friend.  "You  ain't  tryin'  to  make  out  that  what  I  do 
ain't  all  right  and  proper,  are  you  ?" 

Cap'n  Sproul  checked  an  apparent  impulse  to  toss  the 
bandbox  into  the  roadside  bushes,  and  after  a  moment 
tucked  the  thing  under  the  seat  to  have  it  out  of  the  way  of 
his  tempted  hands.  Then  he  wrenched  off  a  huge  chew  of 
tobacco  whose  rumination  might  check  his  impulse  toward 
tempestuous  language. 

He  tried  the  hat  on  that  night  in  the  presence  of  his  ad 
miring  wife,  gritting  curses  under  his  breath,  his  skin  prick 
ling  with  resentment.  He  swore  then  that  he  would  never 
wear  it.  But  on  the  day  of  the  race  he  carried  it  in  its  box 
to  the  selectman's  office,  at  which  common  meeting-place 
the  three  judges  were  to  be  taken  up  by  the  official  barouche 
of  the  Smyrna  Fair  Association. 

Under  the  commanding  eye  of  Hiram  Look  he  put  on  the 
head-gear  when  the  barouche  was  announced  at  the  door, 
and  went  forth  into  the  glare  of  publicity  with  a  furtive  sense 
of  shame  that  flushed  his  cheek.  By  splitting  the  top  of  his 
hack,  Ferd  Parrott,  landlord  of  Smyrna  tavern,  had  pro 
duced  a  vehicle  that  somewhat  resembled  half  a  watermelon. 
Ferd  drove,  adorned  also  with  a  plug  hat  from  the  stock  of 
the  Honorable  Percival. 

Just  inside  the  gate  of  the  fair-grounds  waited  the  Smyrna 
"Silver  Cornet  Band."  It  struck  up  "Hail  to  the  Chief," 
to  the  violent  alarm  of  the  hack-horses. 

"We're  goin'  to  get  run  away  with  sure's  you're  above 
hatches!"  bellowed  Cap'n  Sproul,  standing  up  and  making 
ready  to  leap  over  the  edge  of  the  watermelon.  But  Hiram 
Look  restrained  him,  and  the  band,  its  trombones  splitting 
the  atmosphere,  led  away  with  a  merry  march. 

124 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

When  they  had  circled  the  track,  from  the  three-quarters 
pole  to  the  stand,  and  the  crowd  broke  into  plaudits,  Cap'n 
Sproul  felt  a  bit  more  comfortable,  and  dared  to  straighten 
his  neck  and  lift  his  head-gear  further  into  the  sunshine. 

He  even  forgot  the  hateful  presence  of  his  seat-mate,  a 
huge  dog  that  Mr.  Bickford  had  invited  into  the  fourth 
place  in  the  carriage. 

"A  very  valuable  animal,  gentlemen,"  he  said.  "Intel 
ligent  as  a  man,  and  my  constant  companion.  To-day  is 
the  day  of  two  of  man's  best  friends — the  horse  and  the  dog 
— and  Hector  will  be  in  his  element." 

But  Hector,  wagging  and  slavering  amiably  about  in  the 
narrow  confines  of  the  little  stand  to  which  they  climbed, 
snapped  the  Cap'n's  leash  of  self-control  ere  five  minutes 
passed. 

"Say,  Mr.  Bickford,"  he  growled,  after  one  or  two  efforts 
to  crowd  past  the  ubiquitous  canine  and  get  to  the  rail, 
"either  me  or  your  dog  is  in  the  way  here." 

"Charge,  Hector!"  commanded  Mr.  Bickford,  taking  one 
eye  from  the  cheering  multitude.  The  dog  "clumped" 
down  reluctantly. 

"We  might  just  as  well  get  to  an  understandin',"  said  the 
Cap'n,  not  yet  placated.  "I  ain't  used  to  a  dog  underfoot, 
I  don't  like  a  dog,  and  I  won't  associate  with  a  dog.  Next 
thing  I  know  I'll  be  makin'  a  misstep  onto  him,  and  he'll  have 
a  hunk  out  of  me." 

"Why,  my  dear  captain,"  oozed  Hector's  proprietor, 
"that  dog  is  as  intelligent  as  a  man,  as  mild  as  a  kitten,  and 
a  very — 

"Don't  care  if  he's  writ  a  dictionary  and  nussed  infants," 
cried  the  Cap'n,  slatting  out  his  arm  defiantly;  "it's  him  or 
me,  here;  take  your  choice!" 

I25 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"I — I  think  your  dog  would  be  all  right  if  you  let  him 
stay  down-stairs  under  the  stand,"  ventured  President 
Kitchen,  diplomatically. 

"He's  a  valuable  animal,"  demurred  Mr.  Bickford, 
"and — "  He  caught  the  flaming  eye  of  the  Cap'n,  and 
added:  "But  if  you'll  have  a  man  sit  with  him  he  may  go. 

"Now  we'll  settle  down  for  a  real  nice  afternoon,"  he 
went  on,  conciliatingly.  "Let's  see:  This  here  is  the  cord 
that  I  pull  to  signal  the  horses  to  start,  is  it  ?" 

"No,  no!"  expostulated  President  Kitchen,  "you  pull 
that  bell-cord  to  call  them  back  if  the  field  isn't  bunched  all 
right  at  the  wire  when  they  score  down  for  the  word.  If  all 
the  horses  are  in  position  and  are  all  leveled,  you  shout 
'Go!'  and  start  your  watch." 

"Precisely,"  said  Mr.  Bickford. 

"It's  the  custom,"  went  on  the  president,  solicitous  for 
the  success  of  his  strange  assortment  of  judges,  yet  with 
heart  almost  failing  him,  "for  each  judge  to  have  certain 
horses  that  he  watches  during  the  mile  for  breaks  or  fouls. 
Then  he  places  them  as  they  come  under  the  wire.  That 
is  so  one  man  won't  have  too  much  on  his  mind." 

"Very,  very  nice!"  murmured  the  Honorable  J.  Percival. 
"We  are  here  to  enjoy  the  beautiful  day  and  the  music  and 
the  happy  throngs,  and  we  don't  want  to  be  too  much  taken 
up  with  our  duties."  He  pushed  himself  well  out  into  view 
over  the  rail,  held  his  new  gold  watch  in  one  gloved  hand, 
and  tapped  time  to  the  band  with  the  other. 


XII 

NARROW  flight  of  rickety,  dusty  stairs  con 
ducted  one  from  the  dim,  lower  region  of  the 
little  stand  through  an  opening  in  the  floor  of 
the  judge's  aerie.     There  was   a  drop-door 
over  the  opening,  held  up  by  a  hasp. 
Now  came  a  thumping  of  resolute  feet  on  the  stairs;    a 
head   projected  just  above  the  edge  of  the  opening,  and 
stopped  there. 

"President,  trustees,  and  judges!"  hailed  a  squeaky  voice. 
Cap'n  Sproul  recognized  the  speaker  with  an  uncontroll 
able  snort  of  disgust. 

It  was  Marengo  Todd,  most  obnoxious  of  all  that  hateful 
crowd  of  the  Cap'n's  "wife's  relations" — the  man  who  had 
misused  the  Cap'n's  honeymoon  guilelessness  in  order  to 
borrow  money  and  sell  him  spavined  horses. 

Marengo  surveyed  them  gloomily  from  under  a  driving- 
cap  visor  huge  as  a  sugar-scoop.  He  flourished  at  them  a 
grimy  sheet  of  paper. 

"Mister  President,  trustees,  and  judges,  I've  got  here  a 
dockyment  signed  by  seventeen — 

President  Kitchen  knew  that  Marengo  Todd  had  been 
running  his  bow-legs  off  all  the  forenoon  securing  signatures 
to  a  petition  of  protest  that  had  been  inspired  by  Trustee 
Silas  Wallace.  The  president  pushed  away  the  hand  that 
brandished  the  paper. 

127 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"What  do  you  take  this  for — an  afternoon  readin'- 
circle  ?"  he  demanded.  "If  you're  goin'  to  start  your  hoss 
in  this  thirty-four  class  you  want  to  get  harnessed.  We're 
here  to  trot  hosses,  not  to  peruse  dockyments." 

"This  'ere  ain't  no  pome  on  spring,"  yelled  Marengo, 
banging  the  dust  out  of  the  floor  with  his  whip-butt  and 
courageously  coming  up  one  step  on  the  stairs.  "It's  a  pro 
test,  signed  by  seventeen  drivers,  and  says  if  you  start  these 
events  with  them  three  old  sofy  pillers,  there,  stuffed  into 
plug  hats,  for  judges,  we'll  take  this  thing  clear  up  to  the 
Nayshunal  'Sociation  and  show  up  this  fair  management. 
There,  chaw  on  that!" 

"Why,  bless  my  soul!"  chirruped  the  Honorable  Bick- 
ford,  "this  man  seems  very  much  excited.  You'll  have  to 
run  away,  my  good  man!  We're  very  busy  up  here,  and 
have  no  time  to  subscribe  to  any  papers." 

Mr.  Bickford  evidently  believed  that  this  was  one  of  the 
daily  "touches"  to  which  he  had  become  accustomed. 

"Don't  ye  talk  to  me  like  I  was  one  of  your  salaried  spit 
toon-cleaners,"  squealed  Marengo,  emboldened  by  the 
hoarse  and  encouraging  whispers  of  Trustee  Wallace  in  the 
dim  depths  below.  The  name  that  much  repetition  by 
Wallace  had  made  familiar  slipped  out  before  he  had  time 
for  second  thought.  "I  knowed  ye,  Kittle-belly  Bickford, 
when  ye  wore  patches  on  your  pants  bigger'n  dinner-plates 
and—" 

President  Kitchen  let  loose  the  hasp  that  held  up  the  drop- 
door  and  fairly  "pegged"  Mr.  Todd  out  of  sight.  He 
grinned  apologetically  at  a  furious  Mr.  Bickford. 

"Order  the  marshal  to  call  the  hosses  for  the  thirty-four 
trot,  Honer'ble,"  he  directed,  anxious  to  give  the  starter 
something  to  do  to  take  his  mind  off  present  matters. 

128 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Mr.  Bickford  obeyed,  finding  this  exercise  of  authority  a 
partial  sop  to  his  wounded  feelings. 

Cap'n  Sproul  pendulumed  dispiritedly  to  and  fro  in  the 
little  enclosure,  gloomily  and  obstinately  waiting  for  the 
disaster  that  his  seaman's  sense  of  impending  trouble 
scented.  Hiram  Look  was  frankly  and  joyously  enjoying 
a  scene  that  revived  his  old  circus  memories. 

Eleven  starters  finally  appeared,  mostly  green  horses. 
The  drivers  were  sullen  and  resentful.  Marengo  Todd  was 
up  behind  a  Gothic  ruin  that  he  called  "Maria  M."  When 
he  jogged  past  the  judges'  stand  to  get  position,  elbows  on 
his  knees  and  shoulders  hunched  up,  the  glare  that  he 
levelled  on  Bickford  from  under  his  scoop  visor  was  abso 
lutely  demoniac.  The  mutter  of  his  denunciation  could  be 
heard  above  the  yells  of  the  fakers  and  the  squawk  of  penny 
whistles. 

Occasionally  he  scruffed  his  forearm  over  his  head  as 
though  fondling  something  that  hurt  him. 

To  start  those  eleven  rank  brutes  on  that  cow-lane  of  a 
track  would  have  tested  the  resources  and  language  of  a 
professional.  When  they  swung  at  the  foot  of  the  stretch 
and  came  scoring  for  the  first  time  it  was  a  mix-up  that 
excited  the  vociferous  derision  of  the  crowd.  Nearly  every 
horse  was  off  his  stride,  the  drivers  sawing  at  the  bits. 

Marengo  Todd  had  drawn  the  pole,  but  by  delaying,  in 
order  to  blast  the  Honorable  J.  Percival  with  his  glances, 
he  was  not  down  to  turn  with  the  others,  and  now  came 
pelting  a  dozen  lengths  behind,  howling  like  a  Modoc. 

Some  railbird  satirist  near  the  wire  bawled  "Go!"  as  the 
unspeakable  riot  swept  past  in  dust-clouds.  The  Honor 
able  Bickford  had  early  possessed  himself  of  the  bell-cord 
as  his  inalienable  privilege.  He  did  not  ring  the  bell  to  call 

129 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

the  field  back.  He  merely  leaned  far  out,  clutching  the 
cord,  endeavoring  to  get  his  eye  on  the  man  who  had  shouted 
"Go!"  He  declaimed  above  the  uproar  that  the  man  who 
would  do  such  a  thing  as  that  was  no  gentleman,  and  de 
clared  that  he  should  certainly  have  a  constable  arrest  the 
next  man  who  interfered  with  his  duties. 

In  the  mean  time  President  Kitchen  was  frantically  calling 
to  him  to  ring  the  gong.  The  horses  kept  going,  for  a  driver 
takes  no  chances  of  losing  a  heat  by  coming  back  to  ask 
questions.  It  was  different  in  the  case  of  Marengo  Todd, 
driver  of  the  pole-horse,  and  entitled  to  "protection."  He 
pulled  "Maria  M."  to  a  snorting  halt  under  the  wire  and 
poured  forth  the  vials  of  his  artistic  profanity  in  a  way  that 
piqued  Cap'n  Sproul's  professional  interest,  he  having  heard 
more  or  less  eminent  efforts  in  his  days  of  seafaring. 

Lashed  in  this  manner,  the  Honorable  J.  Percival  Bick- 
ford  began  retort  of  a  nature  that  reminded  his  fellow-towns 
men  that  he  was  "  Jabe"  Bickford,  of  Smyrna,  before  he 
was  donor  of  public  benefits  and  libraries. 

The  grimness  of  Cap'n  Sproul's  face  relaxed  a  little.  He 
forgot  even  the  incubus  of  the  plug  hat.  He  nudged  Hiram. 

"I  didn't  know  he  had  it  in  him,"  he  whispered.  "I  was 
afraid  he  was  jest  a  dude  and  northin'  else." 

In  this  instance  the  dog  Hector  seemed  to  know  his 
master's  voice,  and  realized  that  something  untoward  was 
occurring.  He  came  bounding  out  from  under  the  stand 
and  frisked  backward  toward  the  centre  of  the  track  in 
order  to  get  a  square  look  at  his  lord.  In  this  blind  progress 
he  bumped  against  the  nervous  legs  of  "Maria  M."  She 
promptly  expressed  her  opinion  of  the  Bickford  family  and 
its  attaches  by  rattling  the  ribs  of  Hector  by  a  swift  poke 
with  her  hoof. 

130 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

The  dog  barked  one  astonished  yap  of  indignation  and 
came  back  with  a  snap  that  started  the  crimson  on  "Maria's" 
fetlock.  She  kicked  him  between  the  eyes  this  time — a  blow 
that  floored  him.  The  next  instant  "Maria  M."  was  away, 
Todd  vainly  struggling  with  the  reins  and  trailing  the  last 
of  his  remarks  over  his  shoulder.  The  dog  was  no  quitter. 
He  appeared  to  have  the  noble  blood  of  which  his  master 
had  boasted.  After  a  dizzy  stagger,  he  shot  away  after  his 
assailant — a  cloud  of  dust  with  a  core  of  dog. 

The  other  drivers,  their  chins  apprehensively  over  their 
shoulders,  took  to  the  inner  oval  of  the  course  or  to  the 
side  lines.  Todd,  "Maria  M.,"  and  Hector  were,  by  general 
impulse,  allowed  to  become  the  whole  show. 

When  the  mare  came  under  the  wire  the  first  time  two 
swipes  attempted  to  stop  her  by  the  usual  method  of  sud 
denly  stretching  a  blanket  before  her.  She  spread  her  legs 
and  squatted.  Todd  shot  forward.  The  mare  had  a  long, 
stiff  neck.  Her  driver  went  astraddle  of  it  and  stuck  there 
like  a  clothes-pin  on  a  line.  Hector,  in  his  cloud  of  dust, 
dove  under  the  sulky  and  once  more  snapped  the  mare's 
leg,  this  time  with  a  vigor  that  brought  a  squeal  of  fright  and 
pain  out  of  her.  She  went  over  the  blanket  and  away  again. 
The  dog,  having  received  another  kick,  and  evidently  realiz 
ing  that  he  was  still  "it"  in  this  grotesque  game  of  tag,  kept 
up  the  chase. 

No  one  who  was  at  Smyrna  fair  that  day  ever  remem 
bered  just  how  many  times  the  antagonists  circled  the  track. 
But  when  the  mare  at  last  began  to  labor  under  the  weight 
of  her  rider,  a  half-dozen  men  rushed  out  and  anchored  her. 
The  dog  growled,  dodged  the  men's  kicking  feet,  and  went 
back  under  the  stand. 

"What  is  this,  jedges,  a  dog-fight  or  a  hoss-trot  ?"  raved 
10  131 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Todd,  staggering  in  front  of  the  stand  and  quivering  his 
thin  arms  above  his  head.  "Whose  is  that  dog?  I've  got 
a  right  to  kill  him,  and  I'm  going  to.  Show  yourself  over 
that  rail,  you  old  sausage,  with  a  plug  hat  on  it,  and  tell  me 
what  you  mean  by  a  send-off  like  that!  What  did  I  tell  ye, 
trustees  ?  It's  happened.  I'll  kill  that  dog." 

"I  want  you  to  understand,"  bellowed  the  Honorable 
Bickford,  using  the  megaphone,  "you  are  talking  about  my 
dog — a  dog  that  is  worth  more  dollars  than  that  old  knock- 
kneed  plug  of  yours  has  got  hairs  in  her  mane.  Put  your 
hand  on  that  dog,  and  you'll  go  to  State  Prison." 

"Then  I'll  bet  a  thousand  dollars  to  a  doughnut  ye  set 
that  dog  on  me,"  howled  Marengo.  "I  heard  ye  siss 
him!" 

The  Honorable  J.  Percival  seemed  to  be  getting  more  into 
the  spirit  of  the  occasion. 

"You're  a  cross-eyed,  wart-nosed  liar!"  he  retorted,  with 
great  alacrity. 

"I'll  stump  ye  down  here,"  screamed  Todd.  "I  can  lick 
you  and  your  dog,  both  together." 

"If  I  was  in  your  place,"  said  "Judge"  Hiram  Look,  his 
interest  in  horse-trotting  paling  beside  this  more  familiar 
phase  of  sport,  "I'd  go  down  and  cuff  his  old  chops.  You'll 
have  the  crowd  with  you  if  you  do." 

But  Mr.  Bickford,  though  trembling  with  rage,  could  not 
bring  himself  to  correlate  fisticuffs  and  dignity. 

"He  is  a  miserable,  cheap  horse-jockey,  and  I  shall  treat 
him  with  the  contempt  he  deserves,"  he  blustered.  "If  it 
hadn't  been  for  my  dog  his  old  boneyard  could  never  have 
gone  twice  around  the  track,  anyway." 

The  crowds  on  the  grand  stand  were  bellowing:  "Trot 
bosses!  Shut  up!  Trot  bosses!" 

132 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"Er — what  other  races  have  we  ?"  inquired  the  Honorable 
J.  Percival,  as  blandly  as  his  violated  feelings  would  allow. 

"We  haven't  had  any  yet,"  cried  a  new  voice  in  the 
stand — the  wrathful  voice  of  Trustee  Silas  Wallace,  of  the 
horse  department.  After  quite  a  struggle  he  had  managed 
to  tip  President  Kitchen  off  the  trap-door  and  had  ascended. 
"We  never  will  have  any,  either,"  he  shouted,  shaking  his 
finger  under  the  president's  nose.  "What  did  I  tell  you 
would  happen  ?  We'll  be  reported  to  the  National  As 
sociation." 

The  crowd  across  the  way  roared  and  barked  like  beasts 
of  prey,  and  the  insistent  and  shrill  staccato  of  Marengo 
Todd  sounded  over  all. 

Cap'n  Sproul  deliberately  and  with  much  decision  took 
off  his  silk  hat  and  held  it  toward  the  Honorable  Bickford. 

"I  resign!"  he  said.  "I  was  shanghaied  into  this  thing 
against  my  good  judgment,  and  it's  come  out  just  as  I  ex 
pected  it  would.  It  ain't  no  place  for  me,  and  I  resign!" 

"It  isn't  any  place  for  gentlemen,"  agreed  Mr.  Bickford, 
ignoring  the  proffered  hat.  "We  seem  to  be  thrown  in 
among  some  very  vulgar  people,"  he  went  on,  his  ear  out 
for  Marengo's  taunts,  his  eyes  boring  Trustee  Wallace.  "It 
is  not  at  all  as  I  supposed  it  would  be.  You  cannot  expect 
us  to  be  patrons  of  the  races  under  these  circumstances, 
Mr.  Kitchen.  You  will  please  call  our  barouche.  We 
leave  in  great  displeasure." 

"I  don't  give  a  red  hoorah  how  you  leave,  so  long  as  you 
leave  before  you've  busted  up  this  fair — trot  programmy 
and  all,"  retorted  Mr.  Wallace,  bridling.  "I've  got  three 
men  waitin'  ready  to  come  into  this  stand.  They  don't 
wear  plug  hats,  but  they  know  the  diff'runce  between  a 
dog-fight  and  a  hoss-trot." 

'33 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"Take  this!  I  don't  want  it  no  more,"  insisted  the 
Cap'n,  stung  by  this  repeated  reference  to  plug  hats.  He 
poked  the  head-gear  at  Mr.  Bickford.  But  that  gentleman 
brushed  past  him,  stumped  down  the  stairs,  and  strode  into 
the  stretch  before  the  stand,  loudly  calling  for  the  carriage. 

Marengo  Todd,  accepting  his  sudden  and  defiant  appear 
ance  as  gage  of  battle,  precipitately  withdrew,  leaping  the 
fence  and  disappearing  under  the  grand-stand. 

It  was  five  minutes  or  more  ere  the  barouche  appeared, 
Mr.  Parrott  requiring  to  be  coaxed  by  President  Kitchen 
to  haul  the  three  disgraced  dignitaries  away.  He  seemed 
to  sniff  a  mob  sentiment  that  might  damage  his  vehicle. 

Mr.  Bickford's  two  associates  followed  him  from  the 
stand,  the  Cap'n  abashed  and  carrying  the  tall  hat  behind 
his  back,  Hiram  Look  muttering  disgusted  profanity  under 
his  long  mustache. 

"I  want  to  say,  gentlemen,"  cried  Mr.  Bickford,  utilizing 
the  interval  of  waiting  to  address  the  throng  about  him, 
"that  you  have  no  right  to  blame  my  dog.  He  is  a  valuable 
animal  and  a  great  family  pet,  and  he  only  did  what  it  is 
his  nature  to  do." 

Marengo  Todd  was  edging  back  into  the  crowd,  his  coat 
off  and  something  wrapped  in  the  garment. 

"Blame  no  creature  for  that  which  it  is  his  nature  to  do," 
said  Mr.  Bickford.  "He  was  attacked  first,  and  he  used 
the  weapons  nature  provided." 

"Fam'ly  pets,  then,  has  a  right  to  do  as  it  is  their  nature 
for  to  do  ?"  squealed  Todd,  working  nearer. 

Mr.  Bickford  scornfully  turned  his  back  on  this  vulgar 
railer.  The  carriage  was  at  hand. 

"How  about  pets  known  as  medder  hummin'-birds  ?"  de 
manded  Todd. 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

The  Cap'n  was  the  first  in.  Hiram  came  next,  kicking  out 
at  the  amiable  Hector,  who  would  have  preceded  him. 
When  the  Honorable  J.  Percival  stepped  in,  some  one 
slammed  the  carriage-door  so  quickly  on  his  heels  that  his 
long-tailed  coat  was  caught  in  the  crack. 

Todd  forced  his  way  close  to  the  carriage  as  it  was  about 
to  start.  His  weak  nature  was  in  a  state  of  anger  bordering 
on  the  maniacal. 

"Here's  some  more  family  pets  for  you  that  ain't  any 
dangerouser  than  them  you're  cultivatin'.  Take  'em  home 
and  study  'em." 

He  climbed  on  the  wheel  and  shook  out  of  the  folds  of  his 
coat  a  hornets'  nest  that  he  had  discovered  during  his  tem 
porary  exile  under  the  grand-stand.  It  dropped  into  Mr. 
Bickford's  lap,  and  with  a  swat  of  his  coat  Todd  crushed  it 
where  it  lay.  It  was  a  coward's  revenge,  but  it  was  an 
effective  one. 

Mr.  Bickford  leaped,  either  in  pain  or  in  order  to  pursue 
the  fleeing  Marengo,  and  fell  over  the  side  of  the  carriage. 
His  coat-tail  held  fast  in  the  door,  and  suspended  him,  his 
toes  and  fingers  just  touching  the  ground.  When  he  jumped 
he  threw  the  nest  as  far  as  he  could,  and  it  fell  under  the 
horses.  Hiram  endeavored  to  open  the  hack-door  as  the 
animals  started — but  who  ever  yet  opened  a  hack-door  in  a 
hurry  ? 

Cap'n  Aaron  Sprout's  first  impulse  was  the  impulse  of  the 
sailor  who  beholds  dangerous  top-hamper  dragging  at  a 
craft's  side  in  a  squall.  He  out  with  his  big  knife  and  cut 
off  the  Honorable  Bickford's  coat-tails  with  one  mighty 
slash,  and  that  gentleman  rolled  in  the  dust  over  the  hornets' 
nest,  just  outside  the  wheels,  as  the  carriage  roared  away 
down  the  stretch. 

'35 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Landlord  Parrott  was  obliged  to  make  one  circuit  of  the 
track  before  he  could  control  his  steeds,  but  the  triumphal 
rush  down  the  length  of  the  yelling  grand-stand  was  an  ova 
tion  that  Cap'n  Sproul  did  not  relish.  He  concealed  the 
hateful  plug  hat  between  his  knees,  and  scowled  straight 
ahead. 

Parrott  did  not  go  back  after  the  Honorable  Bickford. 

The  loyal  and  apologetic  Kitchen  assisted  that  gentleman 
to  rise,  brushed  off  his  clothes — what  were  left  of  them — and 
carried  him  to  "Bickburn  Towers"  in  his  buggy,  with  Hec 
tor  wagging  sociably  in  the  dust  behind. 

Mr.  Bickford  fingered  the  ragged  edge  of  his  severed  coat- 
tails,  and  kept  his  thoughts  to  himself  during  his  ride. 

When  the  old  lady  Sampson  called  at  the  Towers  next 
day  with  a  subscription  paper  to  buy  a  carpet  for  the  Baptist 
vestry,  James  informed  her  that  Mr.  Bickford  had  gone  out 
West  to  look  after  his  business  interests. 

When  Hiram  Look  set  Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul  down  at  his 
door  that  afternoon  he  emphasized  the  embarrassed  silence 
that  had  continued  during  the  ride  by  driving  away  without 
a  word.  Equally  as  saturnine,  Cap'n  Sproul  walked  through 
his  dooryard,  the  battered  plug  hat  in  his  hand,  paying  no 
heed  to  the  somewhat  agitated  questions  of  his  wife.  She 
watched  his  march  into  the  corn-field  with  concern. 

She  saw  him  set  the  hat  on  the  head  of  a  scarecrow  whose 
construction  had  occupied  his  spare  hours,  and  in  which  he 
felt  some  little  pride.  But  after  surveying  the  result  a 
moment  he  seemed  to  feel  that  he  had  insulted  a  helpless 
object,  for  he  took  the  hat  off,  spat  into  it,  and  kicked  it 
into  shapeless  pulp.  Then  he  came  back  to  the  house  and 
grimly  asked  his  wife  if  she  had  anything  handy  to  take  the 
poison  out  of  hornet  stings. 

136 


XIII 

N  Newry,  on  the  glorious  Fourth  of  July,  the  Proud 
Bird  of  Freedom  wears  a  red  shirt,  a  shield  hat,  and 
carries  a  speaking-trumpet  clutched  under  one 
wing.  From  the  court-house — Newry  is  the  county's 
shire  town — across  to  the  post-office  is  stretched  the 
well-worn  banner: 

WELCOME  TO  THE  COUNTY'S 
BRAVE  FIRE-LADDIES 

That  banner  pitches  the  key  for  Independence  Day  in 
Newry.  The  shire  patriotically  jangles  her  half-dozen  bells 
in  the  steeples  at  daylight  in  honor  of  Liberty,  and  then 
gives  Liberty  a  stick  of  candy  and  a  bag  of  peanuts,  and  tells 
her  to  sit  in  the  shade  and  keep  her  eye  out  sharp  for  the 
crowding  events  of  the  annual  firemen's  muster.  This  may 
be  a  cavalier  way  of  treating  Liberty,  but  perhaps  Liberty 
enjoys  it  better  than  being  kept  on  her  feet  all  day,  listening 
to  speeches  and  having  her  ear-drums  split  by  cannon. 
Who  knows  ?  At  all  events,  Newry 's  programme  certainly 
suits  the  firemen  of  the  county,  from  Smyrna  in  the  north  to 
Carthage  in  the  south.  And  the  firemen  of  the  county  and 
their  women  are  the  ones  who  do  their  shopping  in  Newry! 
Liberty  was  never  known  to  buy  as  much  as  a  ribbon  for  her 
kimono  there. 

137 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

So  it's  the  annual  firemen's  muster  for  Newry's  Fourth! 
Red  shirts  in  the  forenoon  parade,  red  language  at  the  after 
noon  tub-trials,  red  fire  in  the  evening  till  the  last  cheer  is 
yawped. 

So  it  was  on  the  day  of  which  this  truthful  chronicle 
treats. 

Court  Street,  at  ten,  ante-meridian,  was  banked  with 
eager  faces.  Band  music,  mufHed  and  mellow,  away  off 
somewhere  where  the  parade  was  forming!  Small  boys 
whiling  away  the  tedium  of  waiting  with  snap-crackers. 
Country  teams  loaded  to  the  edges,  and  with  little  Johnny 
scooched  on  a  cricket  in  front,  hustling  down  the  line  of 
parade  to  find  a  nook.  Anxious  parents  scuttling  from  side 
to  side  of  the  street,  dragging  red-faced  offspring  with  the 
same  haste  and  uncertainty  hens  display  to  get  on  the  other 
side  of  the  road — having  no  especial  object  in  changing,  ex 
cept  to  change.  Chatter  of  voices,  hailings  of  old  friends 
who  signified  delighted  surprise  by  profanity  and  affectionate 
abuse.  Everlasting  wailings  of  penny  squawkers! 

Behold  Newry  ready  for  its  annual:  "See  the  Conquering 
Heroes  Come!" 

Uncle  Brad  Trufant  stood  on  the  post-office  steps,  dim 
and  discontented  eyes  on  the  vista  of  Court  Street,  framed 
in  the  drooping  elms. 

"They  don't  get  the  pepper  sass  into  it  these  days  they 
used  to,"  he  said.  "These  last  two  years,  if  it  wa'n't  for 
the  red  shirts  and  some  one  forgettin'  and  cussin'  once  in  a 
while,  you'd  think  they  was  classes  from  a  theological  semi 
nary  marchin'  to  get  their  degrees.  I  can  remember  when 
we  came  down  from  Vienny  twenty  years  ago  with  old 
Niag'ry,  and  ev'ry  man  was  over  six  feet  tall,  and  most  of 
'em  had  double  teeth,  upper  and  lower,  all  the  way  'round. 

'38 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

And  all  wore  red  shirts.  And  ev'ry  man  had  one  horn,  and 
most  of  'em  tew.  We  broke  glass  when  we  hollered.  We 
tore  up  ground  when  we  jumped.  We  cracked  the  earth 
when  we  lit.  Them  was  real  days  for  firemen!" 

"Ain't  seen  the  Smyrna  Ancient  and  Honorable  Fire 
men's  Association,  Hiram  Look  foreman,  and  his  new  fife- 
and-drum  corps,  and  the  rest  of  the  trimmin's,  have  you, 
Uncle  Brad?"  drawled  a  man  near  him.  "Well,  don't 
commit  yourself  too  far  on  old  Vienny  till  the  Smyrna  part 
of  the  parade  gets  past.  I  see  'em  this  mornin'  when  they 
unloaded  Hecly  One  and  the  trimmin's  'foresaid,  and  I'd 
advise  you  to  wait  a  spell  before  you  go  to  callin'  this  muster 
names." 

It  became  apparent  a  little  later  that  hints  of  this  sort  were 
having  their  effect  on  the  multitude.  Even  the  head  of  the 
great  parade,  with  old  John  Burt,  chief  marshal,  titupping 
to  the  grunt  of  brass  horns,  stirred  only  perfunctory  ap 
plause.  The  shouts  for  Avon's  stalwart  fifty,  with  their 
mascot  gander  waddling  on  the  right  flank,  were  evidently 
confined  to  the  Avon  excursionists.  Starks,  Carthage,  Sa 
lem,  Vienna  strode  past  with  various  evolutions — open 
order,  fours  by  the  right,  double-quick,  and  all  the  rest, 
but  still  the  heads  turned  toward  the  elm-framed  vista 
of  the  street.  The  people  were  expecting  something.  It 
came. 

Away  down  the  street  there  sounded — raggity-tag!  rag- 
gity-tag! — the  tuck  of  a  single  drum.  Then — pur-r-r-r! 

"There's  old  Smyrna  talkin'  up!"  shrilled  a  voice  in  the 
crowd. 

And  the  jubilant  plangor  of  a  fife-and-drum  corps  burst 
on  the  listening  ears. 

"And  there's  his  pet  elephant  for  a  mascot!     How's  that 

139 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

for  Foreman  Hiram  Look  and  the  Smyrna  Ancients  and 
Honer'bles  ?"  squealed  the  voice  once  more. 

The  drum  corps  came  first,  twenty  strong,  snares  and 
basses  rattling  and  booming,  the  fifers  with  arms  akimbo 
and  cheeks  like  bladders. 

Hiram  Look,  ex-showman  and  once  proprietor  of  "Look's 
Leviathan  Circus  and  Menagerie,"  came  next,  lonely  in  his 
grandeur.  He  wore  his  leather  hat,  with  the  huge  shield- 
fin  hanging  down  his  back,  the  word  "Foreman"  newly 
lettered  on  its  curved  front.  He  carried  two  leather  buckets 
on  his  left  arm,  and  in  his  right  hand  flourished  his  speaking- 
trumpet.  The  bed-wrench,  chief  token  of  the  antiquity  of 
the  Ancients,  hung  from  a  cord  about  his  neck,  and  the  huge 
bag,  with  a  puckering-string  run  about  its  mouth,  dangled 
from  his  waist. 

At  his  heels  shambled  the  elephant,  companion  of  his 
circus  wanderings,  and  whose  old  age  he  had  sworn  to  pro 
tect  and  make  peaceful.  A  banner  was  hung  from  each  ear, 
and  she  slouched  along  at  a  brisk  pace,  in  order  to  keep  the 
person  of  her  lord  and  master  within  reach  of  her  moist  and 
wistful  trunk.  She  wore  a  blanket  on  which  was  printed: 
"Imogene,  Mascot  of  the  Smyrna  Ancients."  Imogene  was 
making  herself  useful  as  well  as  ornamental,  for  she  was 
harnessed  to  the  pole  of  "Hecla  Number  One,"  and  the  old 
tub  "ruckle-chuckled"  along  at  her  heels  on  its  little  red 
trucks.  From  its  brake-bars  hung  the  banners  won  in  the 
past-and-gone  victories  of  twenty  years  of  musters.  Among 
these  was  one  inscribed  "Champions." 

And  behind  Hecla  marched,  seventy-five  strong,  the  An 
cients  of  Smyrna,  augmented,  by  Hiram  Look's  enterprise, 
until  they  comprised  nearly  every  able-bodied  man  in  the 
old  town. 

140 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

To  beat  and  pulse  of  riotous  drums  and  shrilling  fifes  they 
were  roaring  choruses.  It  was  the  old  war  song  of  the  organ 
ization,  product  of  a  quarter-century  of  rip-roaring  defiance, 
crystallized  from  the  lyrics  of  the  hard-fisted. 

They  let  the  bass  drums  accent  for  them. 

"Here  wee-come  from  old  Sy-myrna 
Here  wee-come  with  Hecly  One; 
She's  the  prunes  for  a  squirt,  gol  durn  her — 

We've  come  down  for  fight  or  fun. 
Shang,  de-rango !  We're  the  bo-kay, 
Don't  giveadam  for  no  one  no  way. 

"Here  wee-come — sing  old  A'nt  Rhody! 

See  old  Hecly  paw  up  dirt. 
Stuff  her  pod  with  rocks  and  sody, 

Jee-ro  C'ris'mus,  how  she'll  squirt! 
Rip-te-hoo!     And  a  hip,  hip,  holler, 
We'll  lick  hell  for  a  half  a  dollar  1" 

The  post-office  windows  rattled  and  shivered  in  the  sun 
shine.  Horses  along  the  line  of  march  crouched,  ducked 
sideways,  and  snorted  in  panic.  Women  put  their  fingers 
in  their  ears  as  the  drums  passed.  And  when  at  the  end  of 
each  verse  the  Ancients  swelled  their  red-shirted  bosoms  and 
screamed,  Uncle  Trufant  hissed  in  the  ear  of  his  nearest 
neighbor  on  the  post-office  steps:  "The  only  thing  we  need 
is  the  old  Vienny  company  here  to  give  'em  the  stump!  Old 
Vienny,  as  it  used  to  be;  could  lick  'em,  el'funt  and  all." 

The  Smyrna  Ancients  were  file-closers  of  the  parade; 
Hiram  Look  had  chosen  his  position  with  an  eye  to  effect 
that  made  all  the  other  companies  seem  to  do  mere  escort 
duty.  The  orderly  lines  of  spectators  poured  together  into 
the  street  behind,  and  went  elbowing  in  noisy  rout  to  the 
village  square,  the  grand  rallying-point  and  arena  of  the 
day's  contests.  There,  taking  their  warriors'  ease  before 

141 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

the  battle,  the  Ancients,  as  disposed  by  their  assiduous  fore 
man,  continued  the  centre  of  observation. 

Uncle  Brad  Trufant,  nursing  ancient  memories  of  the 
prowess  of  Niagara  and  the  Viennese,  voiced  some  of  the 
sentiment  of  the  envious  when  he  muttered:  "Eatin',  allus 
eatin'!  The  only  fire  they  can  handle  is  a  fire  in  a  cook- 
stove." 

On  this  occasion  Foreman  Look  had  responded  nobly  to 
the  well-known  gastronomic  call  of  his  Ancients.  No  one 
understood  better  than  he  the  importance  of  the  commissary 
in  a  campaign.  The  dinner  he  had  given  the  Ancients  to 
celebrate  his  election  as  foreman  had  shown  him  the  way  to 
their  hearts. 

Bringing  up  the  rear  had  rumbled  one  of  his  circus-vans. 
Now,  with  the  eyes  of  the  hungry  multitude  on  him,  he  un 
locked  the  doors  and  disclosed  an  interior  packed  full  of  in 
dividual  lunch-baskets.  His  men  cheered  lustily  and  formed 
in  line. 

Foreman  Look  gazed  on  his  cohorts  with  pride  and 
fondness. 

"Gents,"  he  said,  in  a  clarion  voice  that  took  all  the  by 
standers  into  his  confidence,  "you're  never  goin'  to  make 
any  mistake  in  followin'  me.  Follow  me  when  duty  calls — 
follow  me  when  pleasure  speaks,  and  you'll  always  find  me 
with  the  goods." 

He  waved  his  hand  at  the  open  door  of  the  van. 

Two  ladies  had  been  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  Ancients 
in  the  square,  squired  by  a  stout  man  in  blue,  who  scruffed 
his  fingers  through  his  stubbly  gray  beard  from  time  to  time 
with  no  great  ease  of  manner.  Most  of  the  spectators  knew 
him.  He  was  the  first  selectman  of  Smyrna,  Cap'n  Aaron 
Sproul.  And  when  the  ladies,  at  a  signal  from  Foreman 

142 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Look,  took  stations  at  the  van  door  and  began  to  distribute 
the  baskets,  whisperings  announced  that  they  were  respec 
tively  the  wives  of  Cap'n  Sproul  and  the  foreman  of  Hecla 
One.  The  ladies  wore  red,  white,  and  blue  aprons,  and 
rosettes  of  patriotic  hues,  and  their  smiling  faces  indicated 
their  zest  in  their  duties. 

Uncle  Trufant,  as  a  hound  scents  game,  sniffed  Cap'n 
Sproul's  uneasy  rebelliousness,  and  seemed  to  know  with  a 
sixth  sense  that  only  Hiram's  most  insistent  appeals  to  his 
friendship,  coupled  with  the  coaxings  of  the  women-folk,  had 
dragged  him  down  from  Smyrna.  Uncle  Trufant  edged  up 
to  him  and  pointed  wavering  cane  at  the  festive  scene  of 
distribution. 

"Seems  to  be  spendin'  his  money  on  'em,  all  free  and 
easy,  Cap'n." 

The  Cap'n  scowled  and  grunted. 

"It's  good  to  have  a  lot  of  money  like  he's  got.  That's 
the  kind  of  a  foreman  them  caterpillars  is  lookin'  for.  But 
if  greenbacks  growed  all  over  him,  like  leaves  on  a  tree, 
they'd  keep  at  him  till  they'd  gnawed  'em  all  off." 

He  glowered  at  the  briskly  wagging  jaws  and  stuffed 
cheeks  of  the  feeding  proteges  of  Foreman  Look. 

"I  reckon  he'll  wake  up  some  day,  same's  you  did,  and 
reelize  what  they're  tryin'  to  do  to  him.  What  you  ought 
to  done  was  settle  in  Vienny.  We've  heard  out  our  way 
how  them  Smyrna  bloodsuckers  have — 

Cap'n  Sproul  whirled  on  the  ancient  detractor,  whiskers 
bristling  angrily.  He  had  never  been  backward  in  pointing 
out  Smyrna's  faults.  But  to  have  an  outsider  do  it  in  the 
open  forum  of  a  firemen's  muster  was  a  different  matter. 

"  Before  I  started  in  to  criticise  other  towns  or  brag  about 
my  own,  Trufant,"  he  snorted,  "I'd  move  over  into  some 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

place  where  citizens  like  you,  that's  been  dead  ten  years  and 
ought  to  be  buried,  ain't  walkin'  round  because  there  ain't 
soil  enough  left  in  town  to  bury  'em  in."  This  was  biting 
reference  to  Vienna's  ledgy  surface. 

"I'd  ruther  walk  on  granite  than  have  web  feet  and 
paddle  in  muck,"  retorted  Uncle  Trufant,  ready  with  the 
ancient  taunt  as  to  the  big  bog  that  occupied  Smyrna's 
interior. 

"Ducks  are  good  property,"  rejoined  the  Cap'n,  serenely, 
"but  I  never  heard  of  any  one  keepin'  crows  for  pets  nor 
raisin'  'em  for  market.  There  ain't  anything  but  a  crow 
will  light  on  your  town,  and  they  only  do  it  because  the  sight 
of  it  makes  'em  faint." 

Stimulated  because  bystanders  were  listening  to  the  col 
loquy,  Uncle  Trufant  shook  his  cane  under  Cap'n  Sproul's 
nose. 

"That's  what  ye  be  in  Smyrna — ducks!"  he  squealed. 
"You  yourself  come  to  your  own  when  ye  waddled  off'm  the 
deck  of  a  ship  and  settled  there.  Down  here  to-day  with  an 
el'funt  and  what's  left  of  a  busted  circus,  and  singin'  brag 
songs,  when  there  ain't  a  man  in  this  county  but  what  knows 
Smyrna  never  had  the  gristle  to  put  up  a  fight  man-fashion 
at  a  firemen's  muster.  Vienny  can  shake  one  fist  at  ye  and 
run  ye  up  a  tree.  Vienny  has  allus  done  it.  Vienny  allus 
will  do  it.  Ye  can't  fight!" 

Hiram  had  cocked  his  ear  at  sound  of  Uncle  Trufant's 
petulant  squeal.  He  thrust  close  to  them,  elbowing  the 
crowd. 

"Fight!  Why,  you  old  black  and  tan,  what  has  fightin' 
got  to  do  with  the  makin'  of  a  fire  department  ?  There's 
been  too  much  fightin'  in  years  past.  It's  a  lot  of  old  ter 
riers  like  you  that  had  made  firemen  looked  down  on. 

144 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Your  idee  of  fire  equipment  was  a  kag  of  new  rum  and 
plenty  of  brass  knuckles.  I  can  show  ye  that  times  has 
changed!  Look  at  that  picture  there!"  He  waved  his 
hairy  hand  at  the  ladies  who  were  distributing  the  last  of  the 
lunch-baskets.  "That's  the  way  to  come  to  muster — come 
like  gents,  act  like  gents,  eat  like  gents,  and  when  it's  all 
over  march  with  your  lady  on  your  arm." 

"Three  cheers  for  the  ladies!"  yelled  an  enthusiastic  mem 
ber  of  the  Smyrna  company.  The  cheers  coming  up  had 
to  crowd  past  food  going  down,  but  the  effect  was  good, 
nevertheless. 

"That's  the  idea!"  shouted  Hiram.  "Peace  and  polite 
ness,  and  everybody  happy.  If  that  kind  of  a  firemen's 
muster  don't  suit  Vienny,  then  her  company  better  take  the 
next  train  back  home  and  put  in  the  rest  of  the  day  firin' 
rocks  at  each  other.  If  Vienny  stays  here  she's  got  to  be 
genteel,  like  the  rest  of  us — and  the  Smyrna  Ancients  will 
set  the  pace.  Ain't  that  so,  boys  ?" 

His  men  yelled  jubilant  assent. 

Uncle  Trufant's  little  eyes  shuttled  balefully. 

"Oh,  that's  it,  is  it  ?"  he  jeered.  "I  didn't  know  I'd  got 
into  the  ladies'  sewin'-circle.  But  if  you've  got  fancy-work 
in  them  shoppin'-bags  of  your'n,  and  propose  to  set  under 
the  trees  this  afternoon  and  do  tattin',  I  wouldn't  advise  ye 
to  keep  singin'  that  song  you  marched  in  here  with.  It  ain't 
ladylike.  Better  sing, '  Oh,  how  we  love  our  teacher  dear!' " 

"Don't  you  fuss  your  mind  about  us  in  any  way,  shape, 
or  manner,"  retorted  the  foreman.  "When  we  march  we 
march,  when  we  eat  we  eat,  when  we  sing  we  sing,  when  we 
squirt" — he  raised  his  voice  and  glared  at  the  crowd  sur 
rounding— "we'll  give  ye  a  stream  that  the  whole  Vienny 
fire  company  can  straddle  and  ride  home  on  like  it  was  a 

145 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

hobby-horse."  And,  concluding  thus,  he  fondled  his  long 
mustaches  away  from  his  mouth  and  gazed  on  the  populace 
with  calm  pride.  Caesar  on  the  plains  of  Pharsalia,  Pom- 
pey  triumphant  on  the  shores  of  Africa,  Alexander  at  the 
head  of  his  conquering  Macedonians  had  not  more  serenity 
of  countenance  to  display  to  the  multitude. 


XIV 

P  came  trotting  a  brisk  little  man  with  a  note 
book  in  one  hand,  a  stubby  lead-pencil  in  the 
other,  a    look    of    importance    spread    over   his 
flushed    features,  and    on    his    breast    a    broad, 
blue  ribbon,  inscribed:  "Chief  Marshal." 
"Smyrna  has  drawed  number  five  for  the  squirt,"  he  an 
nounced,   "follerin'   Vienny.     Committee   on   tub   contests 
has  selected  Colonel  Gideon  Ward  as  referee." 

Hiram's  eyes  began  to  blaze,  and  Cap'n  Sproul  growled 
oaths  under  his  breath.  During  the  weeks  of  their  growing 
intimacy  the  Cap'n  had  detailed  to  his  friend  the  various 
phases  of  Colonel  Gideon's  iniquity  as  displayed  toward 
him.  Though  the  affairs  of  Hiram  Look  had  not  yet 
brought  him  into  conflict  with  the  ancient  tyrant  of  Smyrna, 
Hiram  had  warmly  espoused  the  cause  and  the  grudge  of 
the  Cap'n. 

"I'll  bet  a  thousand  dollars  against  a  jelly-fish's  hind  leg 
that  he  begged  the  job  so  as  to  do  you,"  whispered  Sproul. 
"  I  ain't  been  a  brother-in-law  of  his  goin'  on  two  years 
not  to  know  his  shenanigan.  It's  a  plot." 

"Who  picked  out  that  old  cross  between  a  split-saw  and 
a  bull-thistle  to  umpire  this  muster  ?"  shouted  the  foreman 
of  the  Ancients,  to  the  amazement  of  the  brisk  little  man. 

"Why,  he's  the  leadin'  man  in  this  section,  and  a  Smyrna 
man  at  that,"  explained  the  marshal.     "I  don't  see  how 
11  147 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

your  company  has  got  any  kick  comin'.     He's  one  of  your 
own  townsmen." 

"And  that's  why  we  know  him  better  than  you  do,"  pro 
tested  Hiram,  taking  further  cue  from  the  glowering  gaze 
of  Cap'n  Sproul.  "You  put  him  out  there  with  the  tape, 
and  you'll  see — " 

"Peace  and  politeness,  and  everybody  happy,'"  quoted 
Uncle  Trufant,  maliciously.  The  serenity  had  departed 
from  Foreman  Look's  face. 

"You  don't  pretend  to  tell  me,  do  ye,  that  the  Smyrna 
Ancients  are  afraid  to  have  one  of  their  own  citizens  as  a 
referee?"  demanded  the  brisk  little  man  suspiciously.  "If 
that's  so,  then  there  must  be  something  decayed  about  your 
organization." 

"I  don't  think  they're  down  here  to  squirt  accordin'  to  the 
rules  made  and  pervided,"  went  on  the  ancient  Vienna 
satirist.  "They've  brought  Bostin  bags  and  a  couple  of 
wimmen,  and  are  goin'  to  have  a  quiltin'-bee.  P'raps  they 
think  that  Kunnel  Gid  Ward  don't  know  a  fish-bone  stitch 
from  an  over-and-over.  P'raps  they  think  Kunnel  Ward 
ain't  ladylike  enough  for  'em." 

Not  only  had  the  serenity  departed  from  the  face  of  Fore 
man  Look,  the  furious  anger  of  his  notoriously  short  temper 
had  taken  its  place. 

"By  the  jumped-up  jedux,"  he  shouted,  "you  pass  me 
any  more  of  that  talk,  you  old  hook-nosed  cockatoo,  and 
I'll  slap  your  chops!" 

The  unterrified  veteran  of  the  Viennese  brandished  his 
cane  to  embrace  the  throng  of  his  red-shirted  townsmen, 
who  had  been  crowding  close  to  hear.  At  last  his  flint  had 
struck  the  spark  that  flashed  with  something  of  the  good  old 
times  about  it. 

148 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"And  what  do  you  suppose  the  town  of  Vienny  would  be 
doin'  whilst  you  was  insultin'  the  man  who  was  the  chief  of 
old  Niag'ry  Company  for  twenty  years  ?"  he  screamed. 

"There's  one  elephant  that  I  know  about  that  would  be 
an  orphin  in  about  fifteen  seconds,"  growled  one  of  the  loyal 
members  of  the  Vienna  company,  the  lust  of  old  days  of 
rivalry  beginning  to  stir  in  his  blood. 

"Would,  hey?"  shouted  an  Ancient,  with  the  alacrity  of 
one  who  has  old-time  grudges  still  unsettled.  He  put  a 
sandwich  back  into  his  basket  untasted,  an  ominous  sign  of 
how  belligerency  was  overcoming  appetite.  "Well,  make 
b'lieve  I'm  the  front  door  of  the  orphin  asylum,  and  come 
up  and  rap  on  me!" 

With  a  promptitude  that  was  absolutely  terrifying  the  two 
lines  of  red  shirts  began  to  draw  together,  voices  growling 
bodingly,  fists  clinching,  eyes  narrowing  with  the  reviving 
hatred  of  old  contests.  The  triumphal  entry  of  the  Smyrna 
Ancients,  their  display  of  prosperity,  their  monopoly  of  the 
plaudits  and  attention  of  the  throngs,  the  assumption  of 
superior  caste  and  manners,  had  stirred  resentment  under 
every  red  shirt  in  the  parade.  But  Vienna,  hereditary  foe, 
seemed  to  be  the  one  tacitly  selected  for  the  brunt  of  the 
conflict. 

"Hiram!"  pleaded  his  wife,  running  to  him  and  patting 
his  convulsed  features  with  trembling  fingers.  "You  said 
this  was  all  goin'  to  be  genteel.  You  said  you  were  goin' 
to  show  'em  how  good  manners  and  politeness  ought  to  run 
a  firemen's  muster.  You  said  you  were!" 

By  as  mighty  an  effort  of  self-control  as  he  ever  exercised  in 
his  life,  Hiram  managed  to  gulp  back  the  sulphurous  vilifica 
tion  he  had  ready  at  his  tongue's  end,  and  paused  a  moment. 

"That's  right!  I  did  say  it!"  he  bellowed,  his  eyes  sweep- 

149 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

ing  the  crowd  over  his  wife's  shoulder.  "And  I  mean  it. 
It  sha'n't  be  said  that  the  Smyrna  Ancients  were  anything 
but  gents.  Let  them  that  think  a  bunged  eye  and  a  bloody 
nose  is  the  right  kind  of  badges  to  wear  away  from  a  fire 
men's  muster  keep  right  on  in  their  hellish  career.  As  for 
us" — he  tucked  his  wife's  arm  under  his  own— -"we  re 
member  there's  ladies  present." 

"Includin'  the  elephant,"  suggested  the  irrepressible 
Uncle  Trufant,  indicating  with  his  cane  Imogene  "weaving" 
amiably  in  the  sunshine. 

Cap'n  Sproul  crowded  close  and  growled  into  the  ear  of 
the  venerable  mischief-maker:  "I  don't  know  who  set  you 
on  to  thorn  this  crowd  of  men  into  a  fight,  and  I  don't  care. 
But  there  ain't  goin'  to  be  no  trouble  here,  and,  if  you  keep 
on  tryin'  to  make  it,  I'll  give  you  one  figger  of  the  Portygee 
fandle-dingo." 

"What's  that?"  inquired  Uncle  Trufant,  with  interest. 

"An  almighty  good  lickin',"  quoth  the  peacemaker.  "I 
ain't  a  member  of  a  fire  company,  and  I  ain't  under  no  word 
of  honor  not  to  fight." 

The  two  men  snapped  their  angry  eyes  at  each  other,  and 
Uncle  Trufant  turned  away,  intimidated  for  the  moment. 
He  confessed  to  himself  that  he  didn't  exactly  understand 
how  far  a  seafaring  man  could  be  trifled  with. 

Vienna  gazed  truculently  on  Smyrna  for  a  time,  but 
Smyrna,  obeying  their  foreman's  adjurations,  mellowed  into 
amiable  grins  and  went  on  with  their  lunches. 

"Where's  that  Spitz  poodle  with  the  blue  ribbon?"  in 
quired  the  Cap'n  of  Hiram,  having  reference  to  the  brisk 
little  man  and  his  side  whiskers.  "It  don't  appear  to  me 
that  you  pounded  it  into  his  head  solid  enough  about  our 
not  standin'  for  Gid  Ward." 

150 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

In  the  stress  of  other  difficulties  Hiram  had  forgotten  the 
dispute  that  started  the  quarrel. 

"Don't  let's  have  any  more  argument,  Hiram,"  pleaded 
his  wife. 

"She's  right,  Cap'n,"  said  the  foreman.  "Standin'  up 
for  your  rights  is  good  and  proper  business,  but  it's  a  darn 
slippery  place  we're  tryin'  to  stand  on.  Let  the  old  pirate 
referee.  We  can  outsquirt  'em.  He  won't  dast  to  cheat 
us.  I'm  goin'  to  appoint  you  to  represent  Smyrna  up  there 
at  the  head  of  the  stream.  Keep  your  eye  out  for  a  square 
deal." 

"I  don't  know  a  thing  about  squirtin',  and  I  won't  get 
mixed  in,"  protested  the  Cap'n.  But  the  members  of  the 
Smyrna  company  crowded  around  him  with  appeals. 

"There's  only  this  to  know,"  urged  Hiram.  "The  judges 
lay  down  sheets  of  brown  paper  and  measure  to  the  farthest 
drop.  All  you've  got  to  do  is  keep  your  eye  out  and  see  that 
we  get  our  rights.  You'll  only  be  actin'  as  a  citizen  of  our 
town — and  as  first  selectman  you  can  insist  on  our  rights. 
And  you  can  do  it  in  a  gentlemanly  way,  accordin'  to  the 
programme  we've  mapped  out.  Peace  and  politeness — 
that's  the  motto  for  Smyrna." 

And  in  the  end  Cap'n  Sproul  allowed  himself  to  be 
persuaded. 

But  it  was  scarcely  persuasion  that  did  it. 

It  was  this  plaintive  remark  of  the  foreman:  "Are  you 
goin'  to  stand  by  and  see  Gideon  Ward  do  us,  and  then  give 
you  the  laugh  ?" 

Therefore  the  Cap'n  buttoned  his  blue  coat  tightly  and 
trudged  up  to  where  the  committee  was  busy  with  the  sheets 
of  brown  paper,  weighting  them  with  stones  so  that  the  July 
breeze  could  not  flutter  them  away. 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Sta'rks,  Carthage,  and  Salem  made  but  passable  showing. 
They  seemed  to  feel  that  the  crowd  took  but  little  interest 
in  them.  The  listless  applause  that  had  greeted  them  in  the 
parade  showed  that. 

Then,  with  a  howl,  half-sullen,  half-ferocious,  Vienna 
trundled  old  Niagara  to  the  reservoir,  stuck  her  intake  pipe 
deep  in  the  water,  and  manned  her  brake-beams.  To  the 
surprise  of  the  onlookers  her  regular  foreman  took  his  sta 
tion  with  the  rest  of  the  crew.  Uncle  Brad  Trufant,  fore 
man  emeritus,  took  command.  He  climbed  slowly  upon 
her  tank,  braced  himself  against  the  bell-hanger,  and  shook 
his  cane  in  the  air. 

"Look  at  me!"  he  yelled,  his  voice  cracking  into  a  squall. 
"Look  at  me  and  remember  them  that's  dead  and  gone, 
your  fathers  and  your  grands'rs,  whose  old  fists  used  to  grip 
them  bars  right  where  you've  got  your  hands.  Think  of 
'em,  and  then  set  your  teeth  and  yank  the  'tarnal  daylights 
out  of  her.  Are  ye  goin'  to  let  me  stand  here — me  that  has 
seen  your  grands'rs  pump — and  have  it  said  that  old  Niag'ry 
was  licked  by  a  passul  of  knittin'-work  old-maids,  led  by  an 
elephant  and  a  peep-show  man  ?  Be  ye  goin'  to  let  'em  out- 
squirt  ye  ?  Why,  the  wimmen-folks  of  Vienny  will  put 
p'isen  in  your  biscuits  if  you  go  home  beat  by  anything 
that  Smyrna  can  turn  out.  Git  a-holt  them  bars!  Clench 
your  chaws!  Now,  damye,  ye  toggle-j'inted,  dough-fingered, 
wall-eyed  sons  of  sea -cooks,  give  her  tar  —  give  —  her  — 
tar!" 

It  was  the  old-fashioned  style  of  exordium  by  an  old- 
fashioned  foreman,  who  believed  that  the  best  results  could 
be  obtained  by  the  most  scurrilous  abuse  of  his  men — 
and  the  immediate  efforts  of  Vienna  seemed  to  endorse  his 
opinion. 

152 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

With  the  foreman  marking  time  with  "Hoomp! — hoomp!" 
they  began  to  surge  at  the  bars,  arms  interlaced,  hands, 
brown  and  gristly,  covering  the  leather  from  end  to  end. 
The  long,  snaking  hose  filled  and  plumped  out  with 
snappings. 

Uncle  Trufant  flung  his  hat  afar,  doubled  forward,  and 
with  white  hair  bristling  on  his  head  began  to  curse  horribly. 
Occasionally  he  rapped  at  a  laggard  with  his  cane.  Then, 
like  an  insane  orchestra-leader,  he  sliced  the  air  about  his 
head  and  launched  fresh  volleys  of  picturesque  profanity. 

Old  Niagara  rocked  and  danced.  The  four  hosemen 
staggered  as  the  stream  ripped  from  the  nozzle,  crackling 
like  pistol  discharges.  There  was  no  question  as  to  Uncle 
Trufant's  ability  to  get  the  most  out  of  the  ancient  pride 
of  Vienna.  He  knew  Niagara's  resources. 

"Ease  her!"  he  screamed,  after  the  first  dizzy  staccato  of 
the  beams.  "Ease  her!  Steady!  Get  your  motion!  Up 
— down!  Up — down!  Get  your  motion!  Take  holt  of 
her!  Lift  her!  Now — now — now!  For  the  last  ounce  of 
wickin'  that's  in  ye!  Give  her — hell!" 

It  was  the  crucial  effort.  Men  flung  themselves  at  the 
beams.  Legs  flapped  like  garments  on  a  clothes-line  in  a 
crazy  gale.  And  when  Uncle  Trufant  clashed  the  bell  they 
staggered  away,  one  by  one,  and  fell  upon  the  grass  of  the 
square. 

"A  hundred  and  seventeen  feet,  eight  inches  and  one- 
half!"  came  the  yell  down  the  line,  and  at  the  word  Vienna 
rose  on  her  elbows  and  bawled  hoarse  cheers. 

The  cheer  was  echoed  tumultuously,  for  every  man  in  the 
crowd  of  spectators  knew  that  this  was  full  twenty  feet  better 
than  the  record  score  of  all  musters — made  by  Smyrna  two 
years  before,  with  wind  and  all  conditions  favoring. 

153 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"That's  what  old  times  and  old-fashioned  cussin'  can  do 
for  ye,"  declared  Uncle  Trufant. 

A  man — a  short,  squat  man  in  a  blue  coat — came  pelting 
down  the  street  from  the  direction  of  the  judges.  It  was 
Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul.  People  got  out  of  his  way  when  they 
got  a  glimpse  of  the  fury  on  his  face.  He  tore  into  the  press 
of  Smyrna  fire-fighters,  who  were  massed  about  Hecla,  their 
faces  downcast  at  announcement  of  this  astonishing  squirt. 

"A  hunderd  and  seventeen  northin'!  A  hunderd  and 
seventeen  northin'!"  Cap'n  Sproul  gasped  over  and  over. 
"I  knowed  he  was  in  to  do  us!  I  see  him  do  it!  It  wa'n't 
no  hunderd  and  seventeen!  It's  a  fraud!" 

"You're  a  liar!"  cried  Uncle  Trufant,  promptly.  But  the 
Cap'n  refused  to  be  diverted  into  argument. 

"I  went  up  there  to  watch  Gid  Ward,  and  I  watched  him," 
he  informed  the  Ancients.  "The  rest  of  'em  was  watchin' 
the  squirt,  but  I  was  watchin'  that  land-pirut.  I  see  him 
spit  on  that  paper  twenty  feet  further'n  the  furthest  drop  of 
water,  and  then  he  measured  from  that  spit.  That's  the 
kind  of  a  man  that's  refereein'  this  thing.  He's  here  to  do 
us!  He's  paying  ofFhis  old  town-meetin'  grudge!" 

"Oh,  I  can't  think  that  of  my  brother!"  cried  the  Cap'n's 
wife. 

"Remember,  Hiram,  that  you've  agreed —  '  began  the 
cautious  spouse  of  the  foreman,  noting  with  alarm  the  rigid 
lines  beginning  to  crease  her  husband's  face. 

"There  ain't  no  mistake  about  his  measurin'  to  that  spit  ?" 
demanded  Hiram  of  the  Cap'n,  in  the  level  tones  of  one 
already  convinced  but  willing  to  give  the  accused  one  a  last 
chance. 

"He  done  it — I  swear  he  done  it." 

"I'd  thought,"  pursued  the  foreman  of  the  Ancients, 

154 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"that  a  firemen's  muster  could  be  made  genteel,  and  would 
make  a  pleasant  little  trip  for  the  ladies.  I  was  mistaken." 
At  the  look  in  his  eyes  his  wife  began  eager  appeal,  but  he 
simply  picked  her  up  and  placed  her  in  the  van  from  which 
the  lunch-baskets  had  been  taken.  "There's  Mis'  Look," 
he  said  to  the  Cap'n.  "She'll  be  glad  to  have  the  company 
of  Mis'  Sproul." 

Without  a  word  the  Cap'n  picked  up  Louada  Murilla  and 
placed  her  beside  the  half-fainting  Mrs.  Look.  Hiram 
closed  the  doors  of  the  van. 

"Drive  out  about  two  miles,"  he  ordered  the  man  on  the 
box,  "and  then  let  the  ladies  git  out  and  pick  bokays  and 
enjoy  nature  for  the  rest  of  the  afternoon.  It's — it's — apt 
to  be  kind  of  stuffy  here  in  the  village." 

And  the  van  rumbled  away  down  the  street  toward  the 
vista  framed  in  the  drooping  elms. 

"Now,  gents,"  said  Hiram  to  his  men,  "if  this  is  a 
spittin'-at-a-crack  contest  instead  of  a  tub-squirt,  I  reckon 
we'd  better  go  to  headquarters  and  find  out  about  it." 

But  at  Smyrna's  announced  determination  to  raid  the 
referee,  Vienna  massed  itself  in  the  way.  It  began  to  look 
like  the  good  old  times,  and  the  spectators  started  a  hasty 
rush  to  withdraw  from  the  scene. 

But  Vienna  was  too  openly  eager  for  pitched  battle. 

To  stop  then  and  give  them  what  they  had  been  soliciting 
all  day  seemed  too  much  like  gracious  accommodation  in 
the  view  of  Foreman  Look.  His  business  just  at  that  mo 
ment  was  with  Colonel  Gideon  Ward,  and  he  promptly 
thought  of  a  way  to  get  to  him. 

At  a  signal  the  intelligent  Imogene  hooped  her  trunk  about 
him  and  hoisted  him  to  her  neck.  Then  she  started  up  the 
street,  brandishing  the  trunk  before  her  like  a  policeman's 

155 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

billy  and  "roomping"  in  hoarse  warning  to  those  who  en 
cumbered  her  path. 

A  charge  led  by  an  elephant  was  not  in  the  martial  cal 
culations  of  the  Viennese.  They  broke  and  fled  incon 
tinently. 

Perhaps  Colonel  Gideon  Ward  would  have  fled  also,  but 
the  crowd  that  had  gathered  to  watch  the  results  of  the  hose- 
play  was  banked  closely  in  the  street. 

"Make  way!"  bellowed  Foreman  Look.  "There's  only 
one  man  I  want,  and  I'm  goin'  to  have  him.  Keep  out  of 
my  road  and  you  won't  get  hurt.  Now,  Colonel  Gideon 
Ward,"  he  shouted,  from  his  grotesque  mount,  as  that 
gentleman,  held  at  bay  partly  by  his  pride  and  partly  by  the 
populace,  came  face  to  face  with  him,  "I've  been  in  the 
circus  business  long  enough  to  know  a  fake  when  I  see  one. 
You've  been  caught  at  it.  Own  up!" 

The  Colonel  snorted  indignantly  and  scornfully. 

"You  don't  own  up,  then  ?"  queried  Hiram. 

"I'll  give  you  five  minutes  to  stop  circusin'  and  get  your 
tub  astraddle  that  reservoir,"  snapped  the  referee. 

"It  occurs  to  me,"  went  on  Hiram,  "that  you  can  spit 
farther  if  you're  up  a  tree.  We  want  you  to  do  your  best 
when  you  spit  for  us." 

Colonel  Ward  blinked  without  appearing  to  understand. 

But  the  foreman  of  the  Smyrna  Ancients  immediately 
made  it  evident  that  he  had  evolved  a  peculiar  method  of 
dealing  with  the  case  in  hand.  He  drove  Imogene  straight 
at  the  goggling  referee. 

"Up  that  tree!"  roared  Hiram.  "She'll  kill  you  if  you 
don't." 

Indeed,  the  elephant  was  brandishing  her  trunk  in  a 
ferocious  manner.  A  ladder  was  leaning  against  a  near-by 

156 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

elm,  and  Colonel  Ward,  almost  under  the  trudging  feet  of 
the  huge  beast,  tossed  dignity  to  the  winds.  He  ran  up  the 
ladder,  and  Imogene,  responding  to  a  cuff  on  her  head, 
promptly  dragged  it  away  from  the  tree. 

"Only  three  minutes  left  to  get  Hecla  into  position," 
Hiram  shouted.  "Referee  says  so.  Lively  with  her!" 

Around  and  around  in  a  circle  he  kept  Imogene  shambling, 
driving  the  crowd  back  from  the  tree.  The  unhappy  Colonel 
was  marooned  there  in  solitary  state. 

At  first  the  Vienna  company  showed  a  hesitating  inclina 
tion  to  interfere  with  the  placing  of  Hecla,  suspecting  some 
thing  untoward  in  the  astonishing  elevation  of  the  referee. 
But  even  Uncle  Trufant  was  slow  to  assume  the  responsi 
bility  of  interfering  with  a  company's  right  of  contest. 

The  Ancients  located  their  engine,  coupled  the  hose,  and 
ran  it  out  with  alacrity. 

"Colonel  Ward,"  shouted  Hiram,  "you've  tried  to  do  it, 
but  you  can't.  If  it's  got  to  be  dog  eat  dog,  and  no  gents 
need  apply  at  a  firemen's  muster,  then  here's  where  we  have 
our  part  of  the  lunch.  Did  you  measure  in  twenty  extry 
feet  up  to  your  spit  mark  ?  Speak  up!  A  quick  answer 
turneth  away  the  hose!" 

By  this  time  the  crew  was  gently  working  the  brakes  of 
old  Hecla.  The  hose  quivered,  and  the  four  men  at  the 
nozzle  felt  it  twitching  as  the  water  pressed  at  the  closed 
valve.  They  were  grinning,  for  now  they  realized  the  nat 
ure  of  their  foreman's  mode  of  persuasion. 

Vienna  realized  it,  too,  for  with  a  howl  of  protest  her  men 
came  swarming  into  the  square. 

"Souse  the  hide  off'm  the  red-bellied  sons  of  Gehenna!" 
Hiram  yelled,  and  the  hosemen,  obedient  to  the  word,  swept 
the  hissing  stream  on  the  enemy. 

'57 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Men  who  will  face  bullets  will  run  from  hornets. 

Men  who  will  charge  cannon  can  be  routed  by  water. 

The  men  at  the  brakes  of  old  Hecla  pumped  till  the 
tub  jigged  on  her  trucks  like  a  fantastic  dancer.  To  right, 
to  left,  in  whooshing  circles,  or  dwelling  for  an  instant 
on  some  particularly  obstreperous  Vienna  man,  the  great 
stream  played.  Some  were  knocked  flat,  some  fell  and  were 
rolled  bodily  out  of  the  square  by  the  stream,  others  ran 
wildly  with  their  arms  over  their  heads.  The  air  was  full 
of  leather  hats,  spinning  as  the  water  struck  them.  Every 
now  and  then  the  hosemen  elevated  the  nozzle  and  gave 
Colonel  Gideon  Ward  his  share.  A  half-dozen  times  he 
nearly  fell  off  his  perch  and  flapped  out  like  a  rag  on  a  bush. 

"It  certainly  ain't  no  place  for  ladies!"  communed  Hiram 
with  himself,  gazing  abroad  from  his  elevated  position  on 
Imogene's  neck.  "I  thought  it  was  once,  but  it  ain't." 

"Colonel  Gideon  Ward,"  he  shouted  to  the  limp  and 
dripping  figure  in  the  tree,  "do  you  own  up?" 

The  Colonel  withdrew  one  arm  to  shake  his  fist  at  the 
speaker,  and  narrowly  saved  himself  by  instantly  clutching 
again,  for  the  crackling  stream  tore  at  him  viciously. 

"We'll  drownd  ye  where  ye  hang,"  roared  the  foreman 
of  the  Ancients,  "before  we'll  let  you  or  any  other  pirate 
rinky-dink  us  out  of  what  belongs  to  us." 

Like  some  Hindu  magician  transplanted  to  Yankeedom 
he  bestrode  the  neck  of  his  elephant,  and  with  his  hand 
summoned  the  waving  stream  to  do  his  will.  Now  he 
directed  its  spitting  force  on  the  infuriated  Colonel;  now  he 
put  to  flight  some  Vienna  man  who  plucked  up  a  little 
fleeting  courage. 

And  at  last  Colonel  Ward  knuckled.  There  was  nothing 
else  to  do. 

158 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"I  made  a  mistake,"  he  said,  in  a  moment  of  respite  from 
the  stream. 

''You  spit  on  the  paper  and  measured  in  twenty  extry 
feet  jest  as  Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul  said  you  did,"  insisted 
Hiram.  "Say  that,  and  say  it  loud,  or  we'll  give  old  Hecly 
the  wickin'  and  blow  you  out  of  that  tree." 

And  after  ineffectual  oaths  the  Colonel  said  it — said  it 
twice,  and  the  second  time  much  the  louder. 

"Then,"  bellowed  the  triumphant  Hiram,  "the  record  of 
old  Hecly  Number  One  still  stands,  and  the  championship 
banner  travels  back  to  Smyrna  with  us  to-night,  jest  as  it 
travelled  down  this  mornin'." 

"Hain't  you  goin'  to  squirt?"  asked  some  one  posted 
safely  behind  a  distant  tree. 

"If  you'd  been  payin'  'tendon  as  you  ought  to  be  you'd 
have  jest  seen  us  squirtin',"  replied  the  foreman  of  the 
Ancients  with  quiet  satire.  "And  when  we  squirt,  we  squirt 
to  win." 

Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul  turned  away  from  a  rapt  and  lengthy 
survey  of  Colonel  Ward  in  the  tree. 

"Did  you  ever  ride  on  an  elephant,  Cap'n  Sproul?"  in 
quired  Hiram. 

"Never  tried  it,"  said  the  seaman. 

"Well,  I  want  you  to  come  up  here  with  me.  Imogene 
will  h'ist  you.  I  was  thinkin',  as  it's  gettin'  rather  dull  here 
in  the  village  just  now " — Hiram  yawned  obtrusively — 
"we'd  go  out  and  join  the  ladies.  I  reckon  the  company 'd 
like  to  go  along  and  set  on  the  grass,  and  pee-ruse  nature  for 
a  little  while,  and  eat  up  what's  left  in  them  lunch-baskets." 

Ten  minutes  later  the  Smyrna  Ancients  and  Honorables 
took  their  departure  down  the  street  bordered  by  the  elms. 
Hiram  Look  and  Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul  swayed  comfortably 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

on  Imogene's  broad  back.  The  fife-and-drum  corps  fol 
lowed,  and  behind  marched  the  champions,  dragging  Hecla 
Number  One  on  its  ruckling  trucks. 

Then,  with  the  bass  drums  punctuating  and  accenting, 
they  sang: 

"Rip-te-hoo!     And  a  hip,  hip,  holler! 
We'll  lick  hell  for  a  half  a  dollar!" 

And  it  wasn't  till  then  that  some  bystander  tore  his  atten 
tion  away  long  enough  to  stick  a  ladder  up  the  elm-tree  and 
let  Colonel  Gideon  Ward  scrape  his  way  despondently  down. 


XV 

ROBABLY  Constable  Zeburee  Nute  could  not 
have  picked  out  a  moment  more  inauspicious 
for  tackling  First  Selectman  Aaron  Sproul  on 
business   not   immediately  connected  with  the 
matter  then  in  hand. 
First  Selectman  Sproul  was  standing  beside  a  granite  post, 
pounding  his  fist  on  it  with  little  regard  to  barked  knuckles 
and  uttering  some  perfectly  awful  profanity. 

A  man  stood  on  the  other  side  of  the  post,  swearing  with 
just  as  much  gusto;  the  burden  of  his  remarks  being  that  he 
wasn't  afraid  of  any  by-joosly  old  split  codfish  that  ever  came 
ashore — insulting  reference  to  Cap'n  Sproul's  seafaring  life. 
Behind  Cap'n  Sproul  were  men  with  pickaxes,  shovels, 
and  hoes — listening. 

Behind  the  decrier  of  mariners  were  men  with  other 
shovels,  hoes,  and  pickaxes — listening. 

The  granite  post  marked  the  town  line  between  Smyrna 
and  Vienna. 

The  post  was  four  miles  or  so  from  Smyrna  village,  and 
Constable  Nute  had  driven  out  to  interview  the  first  select 
man,  bringing  as  a  passenger  a  slim,  pale  young  man,  who 
was  smoking  cigarettes,  one  after  the  other. 

They  arrived  right  at  the  climax  of  trouble  that  had  been 
brooding  sullenly  for  a  week.  In  annual  town-meeting 
Smyrna  and  Vienna  had  voted  to  change  over  the  inter- 

161 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

urban  highway  so  that  it  would  skirt  Rattledown  Hill  in 
stead  of  climbing  straight  over  it,  as  the  fathers  had  laid  it 
out  in  the  old  days  for  the  sake  of  directness;  forgetting  that 
a  pail  bail  upright  is  just  as  long  as  a  pail  bail  lying  hori 
zontal. 

First  Selectman  Sproul  had  ordered  his  men  to  take  a 
certain  direction  with  the  new  road  in  order  to  avoid  some 
obstructions  that  would  entail  extra  expense  on  the  town  of 
Smyrna. 

Selectman  Trufant,  of  Vienna,  was  equally  as  solicitous 
about  saving  expense  on  behalf  of  his  own  town,  and  re 
fused  to  swing  his  road  to  meet  Smyrna's  highway.  Result: 
the  two  pieces  of  highway  came  to  the  town  line  and  there 
stopped  doggedly.  There  were  at  least  a  dozen  rods  be 
tween  the  two  ends.  To  judge  from  the  language  that  the 
two  town  officers  were  now  exchanging  across  the  granite 
post,  it  seemed  likely  that  the  roads  would  stay  separated. 

"Our  s'leckman  can  outtalk  him  three  to  one,"  confided 
one  of  the  Smyrna  supporters  to  Constable  Nute.  "I  never 
heard  deep-water  cussin'  before,  with  all  the  trimmin's. 
Old  Trufant  ain't  got  northin'  but  side-hill  conversation,  and 
I  reckon  he's  about  run  down." 

Constable  Nute  should  have  awaited  more  fitting  oppor 
tunity,  but  Constable  Nute  was  a  rather  direct  and  one- 
ideaed  person.  As  manager  of  the  town  hall  he  had  busi 
ness  to  transact  with  the  first  selectman,  and  he  proceeded 
to  transact  it. 

"Mister  S'leckman,"  he  shouted,  "I  want  to  introduce 
you  to  Perfessor — Perfessor — I  ain't  got  your  name  yit  so 
I  can  speak  it,"  he  said,  turning  to  his  passenger. 

"Professor  Derolli,"  prompted  the  passenger,  flicking  his 
cigarette  ash. 

162 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Cap'n  Sproul  merely  shot  one  red  glance  over  his  shoulder, 
and  then  proceeded  with  his  arraignment  of  Vienna  in 
general — mentally,  morally,  socially,  politically,  and  com 
mercially. 

"The  perfessor,"  bawled  Constable  Nute,  unable  to  get 
his  team  very  near  the  selectman  on  account  of  the  up 
heaved  condition  of  the  road,  "has  jest  arranged  with  me 
to  hire  the  town  hall  for  a  week,  and  he  wants  to  arrange 
with  the  selectmen  to  borrow  the  use  of  the  graveyard  for 
a  day  or  so." 

The  constable's  vociferousness  put  the  Cap'n  out  of  voice, 
and  he  whirled  to  find  that  his  auditors  had  lost  all  interest 
in  the  road  dispute,  and  naturally,  too. 

"To  borrow  the  use  of  the  graveyard,  said  privilege  bein' 
throwed  in,  considerin'  that  he  hires  the  town  hall  for  a 
week,"  repeated  the  constable. 

Cap'n  Sproul  hated  cigarettes;  and  he  hated  slim,  pale 
young  men  who  dressed  foppishly,  classing  all  such  under 
the  general  term  "dude."  The  combination  of  the  two,  at 
tending  the  interruption  of  his  absorbing  business  of  the 
moment,  put  a  wire  edge  on  his  temper. 

"Graveyard!  Yes!"  he  roared.  "I'll  appoint  his  funeral 
for  two  o'clock  this  afternoon,  and  I'll  guarantee  to  have 
the  corpse  ready." 

"In  transactin'  business  it  ain't  no  time  for  jokin',"  pro 
tested  the  direct  Mr.  Nute. 

"There's  no  joke  to  it,"  returned  the  Cap'n,  viciously, 
seizing  a  pickaxe. 

"It  ain't  much  of  a  way  for  a  first  selectman  of  a  town  to 
act  in  public,"  persisted  Constable  Nute,  "when  town  busi 
ness  is  put  before  him." 

That  remark  and  a  supercilious  glance  from  the  professor 

12 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

through  his  cigarette  smoke  brought  the  Cap'n  on  the  trot 
to  the  side  of  the  wagon. 

"I'm  'tendin'  to  town  business — don't  you  forget  that! 
And  I'm  'tendin'  to  it  so  close  that  I  ain't  got  time  to  waste 
on  any  cheap  peep-show  critters.  Don't  want  'em  in  town. 
Clear  out!" 

"I'll  make  you  sorry  for  insulting  a  gentleman,"  the  pro 
fessor  threatened. 

"Clear  out!"  insisted  the  Cap'n.  "You  ain't  got  any 
right  drivin'  onto  this  road.  It  ain't  been  opened  to 
travel — " 

"And  it  looks  as  though  it  never  would  be,"  remarked 
Constable  Nute,  sarcastically;  but,  daunted  by  the  glare  in 
the  Cap'n's  eyes,  he  began  to  turn  his  horse.  "I  want  you 
to  understand,  S'leckman  Sproul,  that  there  are  two  other 
s'leckmen  in  this  town,  and  you  can't  run  everything,  even 
if  you've  started  in  to  do  it." 

It  was  pointed  reference  to  the  differences  that  existed 
in  the  board  of  selectmen,  on  account  of  Cap'n  Sproul's 
determination  to  command. 

Two  very  indignant  men  rode  away,  leaving  a  perfectly 
furious  one  standing  in  the  road  shaking  his  fists  after  them. 
And  he  was  the  more  angry  because  he  felt  that  he  had  been 
hastier  with  the  constable  than  even  his  overwrought  state 
of  mind  warranted.  Then,  as  he  reflected  on  the  graveyard 
matter,  his  curiosity  began  to  get  the  better  of  his  wrath,  and 
to  the  surprise  of  his  Vienna  antagonist  he  abandoned  the 
field  without  another  word  and  started  for  Smyrna  village 
with  his  men  and  dump-carts. 

But  dump-carts  move  slowly,  and  when  the  Cap'n  arrived 
at  the  town  house  Constable  Zeburee  Nute  was  nailing  up 
a  hand-bill  that  announced  that  Professor  Derolli,  the  cele- 

164 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

brated  hypnotist,  would  occupy  the  town  hall  for  a  week, 
and  that  he  would  perform  the  remarkable  feat  of  burying 
a  subject  in  the  local  graveyard  for  forty-eight  hours,  and 
that  he  would  "raise  this  subject  from  the  dead,"  alive  and 
well.  The  ink  was  just  dry  on  a  permit  to  use  the  grave 
yard,  signed  by  Selectmen  Batson  Reeves  and  Philias  Blod- 
gett.  The  grim  experiment  was  to  wind  up  the  professor's 
engagement.  In  the  mean  time  he  was  to  give  a  nightly 
entertainment  at  the  hall,  consisting  of  hypnotism  and 
psychic  readings,  the  latter  by  "that  astounding  occult  seer 
and  prophetess,  Madame  Dawn." 

Cap'n  Sproul  went  home  growling  strong  language,  but 
confessing  to  himself  that  he  was  a  little  ashamed  to  enter 
into  any  further  contest  with  the  cigarette-smoking  show 
man  and  the  two  men  who  were  the  Cap'n's  hated  asso 
ciates  on  the  board  of  selectmen. 

That  evening  neighbor  Hiram  Look  called  with  Mrs. 
Look  on  their  way  to  the  village  to  attend  the  show,  but 
Cap'n  Sproul  doggedly  resisted  their  appeals  that  he  take 
his  wife  and  go  along,  too.  He  opposed  no  objection,  how 
ever,  when  Louada  Murilla  decided  that  she  would  accept 
neighbor  Look's  offer  of  escort. 

But  when  she  came  back  and  looked  at  him,  and  sighed, 
and  sighed,  and  looked  at  him  till  bedtime,  shaking  her  head 
sadly  when  he  demanded  the  reason  for  her  pensiveness, 
he  wished  he  had  made  her  stay  at  home.  He  decided  that 
Zeburee  Nute  had  probably  been  busy  with  his  tongue  as 
to  that  boyish  display  of  temper  on  the  Rattledown  Hill  road. 

Hiram  Look  came  over  early  the  next  morning  and  found 
the  Cap'n  thinning  beets  in  his  garden.  The  expression  on 
the  visitor's  face  did  not  harmonize  with  the  brightness  of 
the  sunshine, 

165 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"I  don't  blame  you  for  not  goin',"  he  growled.  "But  if 
you  had  an  idea  of  what  they  was  goin'  to  do  to  get  even,  I 
should  'a'  most  thought  you'd  'a'  tipped  me  off.  It  would 
have  been  the  part  of  a  friend,  anyway." 

The  Cap'n  blinked  up  at  him  in  mute  query. 

"It  ain't  ever  safe  to  sass  people  that's  got  the  ear  of  the 
public,  like  reporters  and  show  people,"  proceeded  Hiram, 
rebukingly.  "I've  been  in  the  show  business,  and  I  know. 
They  can  do  you,  and  do  you  plenty,  and  you  don't  stand 
the  show  of  an  isuckle  in  a  hot  spider." 

"What  are  ye  tryin'  to  get  through  you,  anyway?"  de 
manded  the  first  selectman. 

"Hain't  your  wife  said  northin'  about  it?" 

"She's  set  and  looked  at  me  like  I  was  a  cake  that  she'd 
forgot  in  the  oven,"  confided  the  Cap'n,  sullenly;  "but 
that's  all  I  know  about  it." 

"Well,  that's  about  what  I've  had  to  stand  in  my  fam'ly, 
too.  I  tell  ye,  ye  hadn't  ought  to  have  sassed  that  mes 
merist  feller.  Oh,  I  heard  all  about  it,"  he  cried,  flapping 
hand  of  protest  as  the  Cap'n  tried  to  speak.  "I  don't  know 
why  you  done  it.  What  I  say  is,  you  ought  to  have  con 
sulted  me.  I  know  show  people  better'n  you  do.  Then 
you  ain't  heard  northin'  of  what  she  said  ?" 

"If  you've  got  anything  to  tell  me,  why  in  the  name  of  the 
three-toed  Cicero  don't  you  tell  it  ?"  blurted  the  Cap'n, 
indignantly. 

He  got  up  and  brushed  the  dirt  off  his  knees.  "If  there's 
anything  that  stirs  my  temper,  it's  this  mumble-grumble, 
whifHe-and-hint  business.  Out  and  open,  that's  my  style." 
He  was  reflecting  testily  on  the  peculiar  reticence  of  his  wife. 

"I  agree  with  you,"  replied  Hiram,  calmly.  But  his 
mind  was  on  another  phase  of  the  question.  "If  she  had 

166 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

been  out  and  open  it  wouldn't  have  been  so  bad.  It's  this 
hintin'  that  does  the  most  mischief.  Give  folks  a  hint,  and 
a  nasty  imagination  will  do  the  rest.  That's  the  way  she's 
workin'  it." 

"She?    Who?" 

"Your  mesmerist  fellow's  runnin'  mate — that  woman 
that  calls  herself  Madame  Dawn,  and  reads  the  past  and 
tells  the  future." 

"There  ain't  nobody  can  do  no  such  thing,"  snapped 
Cap'n  Sproul.  "They're  both  frauds,  and  I  didn't  want 
'em  in  town,  and  I  was  right  about  it." 

"Bein'  as  how  I  was  in  the  show  business  thirty  years, 
you  needn't  feel  called  on  to  post  me  on  fakes,"  said  Hiram, 
tartly.  "But  the  bigger  the  fake  is  the  better  it  catches  the 
crowd.  If  she'd  simply  been  an  old  scandal-monger  at  a 
quiltin'-bee  and  started  a  story  about  us,  we  could  run  down 
the  story  and  run  old  scandal-grabber  up  a  tree.  But  when 
a  woman  goes  into  a  trance  and  a  sperit  comes  teeterin'  out 
from  the  dark  behind  the  stage  and  drops  a  white  robe  over 
her,  and  she  begins  to  occult,  or  whatever  they  call  it,  and 
speaks  of  them  in  high  places,  and  them  with  fat  money 
bags,  and  that  ain't  been  long  in  our  midst,  and  has  come 
from  no  one  jest  knows  where,  and  that  she  sees  black 
shadders  followin'  'em,  along  with  wimmen  weepin'  and 
wringin'  of  their  hands — well,  when  a  woman  sets  on  the 
town-hall  stage  and  goes  on  in  that  strain  for  a  half-hour, 
it  ain't  the  kind  of  a  show  that  I  want  to  be  at — not  with  my 
wife  and  yourn  on  the  same  settee  with  me." 

He  scowled  on  the  Cap'n's  increasing  perturbation. 

"A  man  is  a  darned  fool  to  fight  a  polecat,  Cap'n  Sproul, 
and  you  ought  to  have  known  better  than  to  let  drive  at  him 
as  you  did." 

167 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"She  didn't  call  names,  did  she?"  asked  the  Cap'n. 

"Call  names!  Of  course  she  didn't  call  names.  Didn't 
have  to.  There's  the  difference  between  scandal  and  oc- 
cultin'.  We  can't  get  no  bind  on  her  for  what  she  said. 
Now  here  are  you  and  me,  back  here  to  settle  down  after 
roamin'  the  wide  world  over;  jest  got  our  feet  placed,  as 
you  might  say,  and  new  married  to  good  wimmen — and  be 
cause  we're  a  little  forehanded  and  independent,  and  seem 
to  be  enjoyin'  life,  every  one  is  all  ready  to  believe  the  worst 
about  us  on  general  principles.  Mossbacks  are  always 
ready  to  believe  that  a  man  that's  travelled  any  has  been 
raising  seventeen  kinds  of  tophet  all  his  life.  All  she  had 
to  do  was  go  into  a  trance,  talk  a  little  Injun,  and  then  hint 
enough  to  set  their  imaginations  to  workin'  about  us.  Up 
to  now,  judgin'  by  the  way  she's  been  lookin'  at  me,  my  wife 
believes  I've  got  seven  wives  strewed  around  the  country 
somewhere,  either  alive  or  buried  in  cellars.  As  to  your 
wife,  you  bein'  a  seafarin'  character,  she's  prob'ly  got  it  fig- 
gered  that  a  round-up  of  your  fam'ly  circle,  admittin'  all 
that's  got  a  claim  on  you,  would  range  all  the  way  from 
a  Hindu  to  a  Hottentot,  and  would  look  like  a  congress 
of  nations.  In  about  two  days  more — imagination  still 
workin',  and  a  few  old  she  devils  in  this  place  startin'  stories 
to  help  it  along — our  wives  will  be  hoppin'  up  every  ten 
minutes  to  look  down  the  road  and  see  if  any  of  the  victims 
have  hove  in  sight.  And  what  can  we  do  ?" 

Hiram  lunged  a  vigorous  kick  straight  before  him. 

"Find  me  that  hole  I  just  made  in  the  air  and  I'll  tell  you, 
Cap'n,"  he  added,  with  bitter  irony. 

"It's — it's  worse  than  what  I  figgered  on,"  remarked  the 
Cap'n,  despondently,  after  a  thoughtful  pause.  "If  a 
woman  like  Louada  Murilla  will  let  herself  get  fooled 

168 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

and  stirred  up  in  that  kind  of  a  way  by  a  fly  -  by  -  night 
critter,  there  ain't  much  hope  of  the  rest  of  the  neighbor 
hood." 

"  It's  a  kind  of  lyin'  that  there  ain't  no  fightin',"  Hiram 
asserted.  "And  there  are  certain  ones  in  this  place  that 
will  keep  it  in  the  air.  Now  I  didn't  sass  that  mesmerist. 
But  I  got  it  about  as  tough  as  you  did.  I'll  bet  a  thousand 
to  one  that  Bat  Reeves  is  gettin'  back  at  me  for  cuttin'  him 
out  with  the  widder.  It's  reasonable,"  he  declared,  warm 
ing  to  the  topic  and  checking  items  off  on  his  stubby  fingers. 
"Here's  your  mesmerist  rushin'  hot  to  Reeves  complainin' 
about  you  and  gettin'  a  permit  from  Reeves,  along  with  a 
few  pointers  about  you  for  occult  use.  Reeves  hates  you 
bad  enough,  but  he  hates  me  worse.  And  he  sees  to  it  that 
I  get  occulted,  too.  He  ain't  lettin'  a  chance  like  that  slip 
past  as  soon  as  that  perfessor  lets  him  see  what  occultin'  will 
do  to  a  man.  Why,  condemn  his  hide  and  haslet,  I  believe 
he  swapped  that  permit  for  a  dose  of  so  much  occultin' — 
and  I've  got  the  dose." 

"I  should  hate  at  my  age  to  have  to  start  in  and  go  to  sea 
again,"  mourned  the  Cap'n,  after  long  meditation;  "but  I 
reckon  I'll  either  have  to  do  that  or  go  up  in  a  balloon  and 
stay  there.  There's  too  many  tricks  for  me  on  land.  They 
ring  in  all  they  can  think  of  themselves,  and  then  they  go  to 
work  and  get  a  ghost  to  help.  I  can't  whale  the  daylights 
out  of  the  ghost,  and  I  don't  suppose  it  would  be  proper  for 
a  first  selectman  to  cuff  the  ears  of  the  woman  that  said 
females  was  followin'  me,  wailin'  and  gnashin'  their  teeth, 
but  I  can  lick  that  yaller-fingered,  cigarette-suckin'  dude, 
and  pay  the  fine  for  so  doin' — and  reckon  I've  got  my 
money's  worth." 

"You  need  a  guardeen,"  snorted  Hiram.  "She  will  put 
169 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

on  her  robe  and  accuse  you  of  bavin'  the  ghost  of  a  mur 
dered  man  a-chasin'  you." 

The  Cap'n  grew  white  under  his  tan  at  this  remark,  made 
by  Hiram  in  all  guilelessness,  and  the  memory  of  a  certain 
Portuguese  sailor,  slipped  overboard  after  a  brief  but  busy 
mutiny,  went  shuddering  through  his  thoughts. 

"Ain't  got  anything  like  that  on  your  conscience,  have 
you  ?"  demanded  the  old  showman,  bluntly. 

"She  didn't  say  anything  only  about  women,  did  she?" 
evaded  the  Cap'n. 

"Didn't  notice  anything  last  night.  She  may  be  savin' 
something  else  for  this  evenin',"  was  Hiram's  consoling  an 
swer.  His  air  and  the  baleful  glance  he  bent  on  his  neighbor 
indicated  that  he  still  held  that  irascible  gentleman  respon 
sible  for  their  joint  misfortune.  And,  to  show  further  dis 
pleasure,  he  whirled  and  stumped  away  across  the  fields 
toward  his  home. 

Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul  attended  the  show  at  the  town  hall 
that  evening. 

He  went  alone,  after  his  wife  had  plaintively  sighed  her 
refusal  to  accompany  him.  He  hadn't  intended  to  go. 
But  he  was  drawn  by  a  certain  fatal  fascination.  He  had 
a  sailor's  superstitious  half-belief  in  the  supernatural.  He 
had  caught  word  during  the  day  of  some  astonishing  revela 
tions  made  by  the  seeress  as  to  other  persons  in  town,  either 
by  lucky  guess  or  through  secret  pre-information,  as  his 
common  sense  told  him.  And  yet  his  sneaking  superstition 
whispered  that  there  was  "something  in  it,  after  all."  If 
that  mesmerist's  spirit  of  retaliation  should  carry  him  to  the 
extent  of  hinting  about  that  Portuguese  sailor,  Cap'n  Sproul 
resolved  to  be  in  that  hall,  ready  to  stand  up  and  beard  his 
defamers. 

170 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Evidently  Professor  Derolli  spotted  his  enemy;  for 
Madame  Dawn,  in  order  that  vengeance  should  be  certain 
of  its  mark,  repeated  the  vague  yet  perfectly  obvious  hints 
of  the  preceding  evening;  and  Cap'n  Sproul  was  thankful 
for  the  mystic  gloom  of  the  hall  that  hid  his  fury  and  his 
shame.  He  stole  out  of  the  place  while  the  lights  were  still 
low.  He  feared  for  his  self-restraint  if  he  were  to  remain, 
and  he  realized  what  a  poor  figure  he  would  make  standing 
up  there  and  replying  to  the  malicious  farrago  of  the  woman 
under  the  veil. 


XVI 


the  rest  of  the  professor's  engagement 
Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul  and  Hiram  Look  kept 
sullenly  to  their  castles,  nursing  indignant 
sense  of  their  wrongs.  They  got  an  occasional 
whiff  of  the  scandal  that  was  pursuing  their 
names.  Though  their  respective  wives  strove  with  pathetic 
loyalty  to  disbelieve  all  that  the  seeress  had  hinted  at,  and 
moved  in  sad  silence  about  their  duties,  it  was  plain  that  the 
seed  of  evil  had  been  planted  deep  in  their  imaginations. 
Poor  human  nature  is  only  what  it  is,  after  all! 

"Two  better  women  never  lived  than  them  of  ourn,  and 
two  that  would  be  harder  to  turn,"  said  Hiram  to  the  Cap'n, 
"but  it  wouldn't  be  human  nature  if  they  didn't  wonder 
sometimes  what  we'd  been  up  to  all  them  years  before  we 
showed  up  here,  and  what  that  cussed  occulter  said  has 
torched  'em  on  to  thinkin'  mighty  hard.  The  only  thing 
to  do  is  to  keep  a  stiff  upper  lip  and  wait  till  the  clouds  roll 
by.  They'll  come  to  their  senses  and  be  ashamed  of  them 
selves,  give  'em  time  and  rope  enough." 

Second  Selectman  Batson  Reeves  busied  himself  as  a  sort 
of  master  of  ceremonies  for  Professor  Derolli,  acted  as  com 
mittee  of  investigation  when  the  professor's  "stock  subject" 
remained  for  a  day  and  night  in  a  shallow  trench  in  the 
village  cemetery,  and  even  gave  them  the  best  that  his 
widower's  house  could  afford  at  a  Sunday  dinner. 

172 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

In  the  early  flush  of  an  August  morning  about  a  week 
after  the  departure  of  the  hypnotic  marvel  and  his  com 
panions,  a  mutual  impulse  seemed  to  actuate  Selectman 
Sproul  and  Hiram  Look  at  a  moment  surprisingly  simul 
taneous.  They  started  out  their  back  doors,  took  the  path 
leading  over  the  hill  between  their  farms,  and  met  under 
the  poplars  at  a  point  almost  exactly  half-way.  It  would 
be  difficult  to  state  which  face  expressed  the  most  of  em 
barrassed  concern  as  they  stood  silently  gazing  at  each  other. 

"I  was  comin'  over  to  your  house,"  said  Hiram. 

"I  was  startin'  for  yourn,"  said  the  Cap'n. 

Then  both,  like  automatons  pulled  by  the  same  string, 
dove  hand  into  breast-pocket  and  pulled  out  a  crumpled 
letter. 

"Well,  I'll  be  dummed!"  quoth  the  two  in  one  voice. 

"I  don't  understand  northin'  about  it,"  said  Hiram, 
plaintively.  "But  whatever  it  is,  it  has  put  me  in  a  devil 
of  a  fix." 

"If  you're  havin'  any  more  trouble  to  your  house  than 
I'm  havin'  over  to  mine,  then  you've  somethin'  that  I  don't 
begrudge  you  none,"  added  the  Cap'n,  gloomily. 

"Woman  left  it,"  related  Hiram.  "It  was  in  the  edge  of 
the  evenin',  and  I  hadn't  come  in  from  the  barn.  Woman 
throwed  it  onto  the  piazza  and  run.  Reckon  she  waited  her 
chance  so't  my  wife  would  get  holt  of  it.  She  did.  She 
read  it.  And  it's  hell  'n'  repeat  on  the  Look  premises." 

"Ditto  and  the  same,  word  for  word,  '  said  the  Cap'n. 

"The  handwritin'  ain't  much  different,"  said  the  ex- 
showman,  clutching  Sproul's  letter  and  comparing  the  two 
sheets.  "But  it's  wimmen's  work  with  a  pen — there  ain't 
no  gettin'  round  that." 

Then  his  voice  broke  into  quavering  rage  as  he  went  on. 

'73 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"You  jest  think  of  a  lovin',  trustin',  and  confidin'  woman 
gettin'  holt  of  a  gob  of  p'isen  like  that!"  He  shook  the 
crackling  sheet  over  his  head.  "Darlin'  Hiram,  how  could 
you  leave  me,  but  if  you  will  come  away  with  me  now  all 
will  be  forgiven  and  forgotten,  from  one  who  loves  you  truly 
and  well,  and  has  followed  you  to  remind  you  of  your 
promise.'  My  Gawd,  Cap'n,  ain't  that  something  to  raise 
a  blister  on  the  motto,  'God  Bless  Our  Home'  ?" 

"It's  done  it  over  to  my  house,"  said  the  Cap'n,  lugu 
briously. 

"There  never  was  any  such  woman — there  never  could 
have  been  any  such  woman,"  Hiram  went  on  in  fervid  pro 
test.  "There  ain't  nobody  with  a  license  to  chase  me  up." 

"Ditto  and  the  same,"  chimed  in  Cap'n  Sproul. 

"No  one!" 

"No  one!"  echoed  the  Cap'n. 

They  stood  and  looked  at  each  other  a  little  while,  and 
then  their  eyes  shifted  in  some  embarrassment. 

"Of  course,"  said  Hiram,  at  last,  moderating  his  tone  of 
indignation,  "when  a  man  ain't  had  no  anchor  he  might 
have  showed  attentions  such  as  ladies  expect  from  gents, 
and  sometimes  rash  promises  is  made.  Now,  perhaps — 
you  understand  I'm  only  supposin' — perhaps  you've  got 
some  one  in  mind  that  might  have  misjudged  what  you  said 
to  her — some  one  that's  got  a  little  touched  in  her  head,  per 
haps,  and  she's  come  here.  In  that  case  it  might  give  us  a 
clue  if  you're  a  mind  to  own  up." 

The  Cap'n  flushed  at  this  clumsy  attempt  of  Hiram  to 
secure  a  confidence. 

"Seein'  that  you've  thought  how  it  might  be  done  all  so 
quick  and  handy,  showin'  what's  on  your  mind,  I  reckon 
you'd  better  lay  down  cards  first,"  he  said,  significantly. 

174 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"I  think  it's  jest  a  piece  of  snigdom  by  some  one  tryin' 
to  hurt  us,"  proceeded  Hiram,  boring  the  Cap'n  with  in 
quisitive  gaze.  "  But  you  never  can  tell  what's  what  in  this 
world,  and  so  long  as  we're  looking  for  clues  we  might  as 
well  have  an  understanding  so's  to  see  if  there's  any  such 
thing  as  two  wimmen  meetin'  accidental  and  comparin' 
notes  and  gettin'  their  heads  together." 

"None  for  me,"  said  the  Cap'n,  but  he  said  it  falteringly. 

"Well,  there's  none  for  me,  either,  but  there's  such  a 
thing  as  havin'  what  you've  said  misjudged  by  wimmen. 
Where  the  wimmen  ain't  strong-headed,  you  know."  He 
hesitated  for  a  time,  fiddling  his  forefinger  under  his  nose. 
"There  was  just  one  woman  I  made  talk  to  in  my  life 
such  as  a  gent  shouldn't  have  made  without  backin5  it  up. 
If  she'd  been  stronger  in  her  head  I  reckon  she'd  have 
realized  that  bein'  sick,  like  I  was,  and  not  used  to  wimmen, 
and  bein'  so  grateful  for  all  her  care  and  attention  and  kind 
ness  and  head-rubbin',  I  was  sort  of  took  unawares,  as  yoi: 
might  say.  A  stronger-headed  woman  would  have  said  to 
herself  that  it  wasn't  to  be  laid  up  against  me.  But  as  soon 
as  I  got  to  settin'  up  and  eatin'  solid  food  I  could  see  that 
she  was  sappy,  and  prob'ly  wanted  to  get  out  of  nussin'  and 
get  married,  and  so  she  had  it  all  written  down  on  her  nuss- 
diary  what  I  said,  mixed  in  with  temperature,  pulse,  and 
things.  I — " 

Cap'n  Sproul's  eyes  had  been  widening,  and  his  tongue 
was  nervously  licking  wisps  of  whisker  between  his  lips. 

"Was  that  in  a  Bost'n  horsepittle  ?"  he  asked,  with  eager 
interest. 

"That's  where.  In  the  fall  three  years  ago.  Pneu- 
mony." 

"Mine  was  rheumatic  fever  two  years  ago,"  said  the 

175 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Cap'n.  "It's  what  drove  me  off'm  deep  water.  She  was 
fat,  wasn't  she,  and  had  light  hair  and  freckles  across  the 
bridge  of  her  nose,  and  used  to  set  side  of  the  bed  and  hum : 
'I'm  a  pilgrim,  faint  and  weary'?" 

"Damme  if  you  didn't  ring  the  bell  with  that  shot!"  cried 
the  old  showman  in  astonishment. 

"Well,  it's  just  ditto  and  the  same  with  me,"  said  the 
Cap'n,  rapping  his  knuckles  on  his  breast.  "Same  horse- 
pittle,  same  nuss,  same  thing  generally — only  when  I  was 
sickest  I  told  her  I  had  property  wuth  about  thutty  thousand 
dollars." 

"So  did  I,"  announced  Hiram.  "It's  funny  that  when 
a  man's  drunk  or  sick  he's  got  to  tell  first  comers  all  he 
knows,  and  a  good  deal  more!"  He  n:n  his  eyes  up  and 
down  over  Cap'n  Sproul  with  fresh  interest.  "If  that  don't 
beat  tophet!  You  and  me  both  at  that  horsepittle  and 
gettin'  mixed  up  with  the  same  woman!" 

"This  world  ain't  got  no  special  bigness,"  said  the  Cap'n. 
"I've  sailed  round  it  a  dozen  times,  and  I  know." 

The  showman  grasped  the  selectman  by  the  coat-lapel  and 
demanded  earnestly:  "Didn't  you  figger  it  as  I  did,  when 
you  got  so  you  could  set  up  and  take  notice,  that  she  wasn't 
all  right  in  her  head  ?" 

"Softer'n  a  jelly-fish!"  declared  the  Cap'n,  with  unction. 

"Then  she's  got  crazier,  and  up  all  of  a  sudden  and  fol 
lowed  us — and  don't  care  which  one  she  gets!" 

"Or  else  got  sensibler  and  remembered  our  property  and 
come  around  to  let  blood." 

"Bound  to  make  trouble,  anyway." 

"She's  made  it!"  The  Cap'n  turned  doleful  gaze  over 
his  shoulder  at  the  chimney  of  his  house. 

"  Bein'  crazy  she  can  make  a  lot  more  of  it.  I  tell  you, 

176 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Cap'n,  there's  only  this  to  do,  and  it  ought  to  work  with 
wimmen-folks  as  sensible  as  our'n  are.  We'll  swap  letters, 
and  go  back  home  and  tell  the  whole  story  and  set  ourselves 
straight.  They're  bound  to  see  the  right  side  of  it." 

"There  ain't  any  reckonin'  on  what  a  woman  will  do," 
observed  the  Cap'n,  gloomily.  "The  theory  of  tellin'  the 
truth  sounds  all  right,  and  is  all  right,  of  course.  But  I  read 
somewhere,  once,  that  a  woman  thrives  best  on  truth  diluted 
with  a  little  careful  and  judicious  lyin'.  And  the  feller 
seemed  to  know  what  he  was  talkin'  about." 

"It's  the  truth  for  me  this  time,"  cried  Hiram,  stoutly. 

"Well,  then,  ditto  and  the  same  for  me.  But  if  it's  comin' 
on  to  blow,  we  might  as  well  get  another  anchor  out.  I'll 
start  Constable  Denslow  'round  town  to  see  what  he  can 
see.  If  he's  sly  enough  and  she's  still  here  he  prob'ly 
can  locate  her.  And  if  he  can  scare  her  off,  so  much  the 
better." 

Constable  Denslow,  intrusted  with  only  scant  and  vague 
information,  began  his  search  for  a  supposed  escaped  lunatic 
that  day.  Before  nightfall  he  reported  to  the  Cap'n  that 
there  were  no  strangers  in  town.  However,  right  on  the 
heels  of  that  consoling  information  came  again  that  terror 
who  travelled  by  night!  In  the  dusk  of  early  evening  an 
other  letter  was  left  for  Aaron  Sproul,  nor  was  the  domicile 
of  Hiram  Look  slighted  by  the  mysterious  correspondent. 

Moved  by  common  impulse  the  victims  met  in  the  path 
across  the  fields  next  morning. 

"Another  one  of  them  bumbs  dropped  at  my  house  last 
night!"  stated  Hiram,  though  the  expression  on  his  coun 
tenance  had  rendered  that  information  superfluous. 

"Ditto  and  the  same,"  admitted  the  Cap'n.  "Haven't 
brought  yourn,  have  you  ?" 

177 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"Wife's  holdin'  onto  it  for  evidence  when  she  gets  her 
bill  of  divorce,"  said  Hiram. 

"Ditto  with  me,"  affirmed  Cap'n  Sproul.  "Tellin'  mine 
the  truth  was  what  really  started  her  mad  up.  It  was  just 
plain  mystery  up  to  that  time,  and  she  only  felt  sorry. 
When  I  told  her  the  truth  she  said  if  it  was  that  bad  it  would 
prob'ly  turn  out  to  be  worse,  and  so  long's  I'd  owned  up  to 
a  part  of  it  I'd  better  go  ahead  and  tell  the  rest,  and  so  on! 
And  now  she  won't  believe  anything  I  try  to  tell  her." 

"Same  over  to  my  place,"  announced  his  despondent 
friend. 

"It's  your  own  cussed  fault,"  blazed  the  Cap'n.  "My 
notion  was  to  lie  to  'em.  You  can  make  a  lie  smooth  and 
convincin'.  The  truth  of  this  thing  sounds  fishy.  It  would 
sound  fishy  to  me  if  I  didn't  know  it  was  so." 

"Since  I  got  out  of  the  circus  business  I've  been  tryin' 
to  do  business  with  less  lyin',  but  it  doesn't  seem  to  work," 
mourned  Hiram.  "Maybe  what's  good  for  the  circus  busi 
ness  is  good  for  all  kinds.  Seems  to  be  that  way!  Well, 
when  you'd  told  her  the  straight  truth  and  had  been  as 
square  as  you  could,  what  did  you  say  to  her  when  she 
flared  up  ?" 

"Northin',"  answered  the  Cap'n.  "Didn't  seem  to  be 
northin'  to  say  to  fit  the  case." 

"Not  after  the  way  they  took  the  truth  when  it  was  of 
fered  to  'em,"  agreed  Hiram.  "I  didn't  say  anything  out 
loud.  I  said  it  to  myself,  and  it  would  have  broke  up  the 
party  if  a  little  bird  had  twittered  it  overhead  at  a  Sunday- 
school  picnic." 

That  day  Jackson  Denslow,  pricked  by  a  fee  of  ten  dol 
lars,  made  more  searching  investigation.  It  was  almost  a 
census.  Absolutely  no  trace  of  such  a  stranger!  Denslow 

178 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

sullenly  said  that  such  a  domiciliary  visit  was  stirring  up  a 
lot  of  talk,  distrust,  and  suspicion,  and,  as  he  couldn't  an 
swer  any  questions  as  to  who  she  was,  where  she  came 
from,  and  what  was  wanted  of  her,  nor  hint  as  to  who  his 
employers  were,  it  was  currently  stated  that  he  had  gone 
daffy  over  the  detective  business.  His  tone  of  voice  indi 
cated  that  he  thought  others  were  similarly  afflicted.  He 
allowed  that  no  detective  could  detect  until  he  had  all  the 
facts. 

He  demanded  information  and  sneered  when  it  was  not 
given. 

It  was  an  unfortunate  attitude  to  take  toward  men,  the 
triggers  of  whose  tempers  had  been  cocked  by  such  events 
as  had  beset  Hiram  Look  and  Aaron  Sproul.  Taking  it 
that  the  constable  was  trying  to  pry  into  their  business  in 
order  to  regale  the  public  on  their  misfortunes,  Hiram  threw 
a  town-ledger  at  him,  and  the  Cap'n  kicked  at  him  as  he 
fled  through  the  door  of  the  office. 

That  night  each  was  met  at  the  front  door  by  hysterics, 
and  a  third  letter.  The  mystery  was  becoming  eerie. 

"Dang  rabbit  her  miserable  pelt!"  growled  Hiram  at  the 
despairing  morning  conference  under  the  poplars.  "She 
must  be  livin'  in  a  hole  round  here,  or  else  come  in  a  bal 
loon.  I  tell  you,  Cap'n  Sproul,  it's  got  to  be  stopped  some 
way  or  the  two  families  will  be  in  the  lunatic  asylum  inside 
of  a  week." 

"Or  more  prob'ly  in  the  divorce  court.  Louada  Murilla 
vows  and  declares  she'll  get  a  bill  if  I  don't  tell  her  the 
truth,  and  when  you've  told  the  truth  once  and  sworn  to  it, 
and  it  don't  stick,  what  kind  of  a  show  is  a  lie  goin'  to  stand, 
when  a  man  ain't  much  of  a  liar  ?" 

"If  she's  goin'  to  be  caught  we've  got  to  catch  her,"  in- 
13  179 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

sisted  Hiram.  "She's  crazy,  or  else  she  wouldn't  be  watch- 
in'  for  us  to  leave  the  house  so  as  to  grab  in  and  toss  one  of 
them  letters.  Looks  to  me  it's  just  revenge,  and  to  make 
trouble.  The  darned  fool  can't  marry  both  of  us.  I  didn't 
sleep  last  night — not  with  that  woman  of  mine  settin'  and 
boohooin'.  I  just  set  and  thought.  And  the  result  of  the 
thinkin'  is  that  we'll  take  our  valises  to-day  and  march  to 
the  railroad-station  in  the  face  and  eyes  of  everybody  so  that 
it  will  get  spread  round  that  we've  gone.  And  we'll  come 
back  by  team  from  some  place  down  the  line,  and  lay  low 
either  round  your  premises  or  mine  and  ketch  that  infernal, 
frowzle-headed  sister  of  Jim  the  Penman  by  the  hind  leg 
and  snap  her  blasted  head  off." 

"What  be  you  goin'  to  tell  the  wimmen  ?" 

"Tell  'em  northin'." 

"There'll  be  the  devil  to  pay.  They'll  think  we're 
elopin'." 

"Well,  let  'em  think,"  said  Hiram,  stubbornly.  "They 
can't  do  any  harder  thinkin'  than  I've  been  thinkin',  and 
they  can't  get  a  divorce  in  one  night.  When  we  ketch  that 
woman  we  can  preach  a  sermon  to  'em  with  a  text,  and 
she'll  be  the  text." 

Cap'n  Sproul  sighed  and  went  for  his  valise. 

"What  she  said  to  me  as  I  come  away  curled  the  leaves  in 
the  front  yard,"  confided  Hiram,  as  they  walked  together 
down  the  road. 

"Ditto  and  the  same,"  mourned  the  Cap'n. 

At  dusk  that  evening  they  dismounted  from  a  Vienna 
livery-hitch  on  a  back  road  in  Smyrna,  paid  the  driver  and 
dismissed  the  team,  and  started  briskly  through  the  past 
ures  across  lots  toward  Hiram  Look's  farm. 

An  hour  later,  moving  with  the  stealth  of  red  Indians,  they 

1 80 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

posted  themselves  behind  the  stone  wall  opposite  the  lane 
leading  into  the  Look  dooryard.  They  squatted  there 
breathing  stertorously,  their  eyes  goggling  into  the  night. 

The  Cap'n,  with  vision  trained  by  vigils  at  sea,  was  the 
first  to  see  the  dim  shape  approaching.  When  she  had 
come  nearer  they  saw  a  tall  feather  nodding  against  the 
dim  sky. 

"Let's  get  her  before  she  throws  the  letter — get  her  with 
the  goods  on  her!"  breathed  Hiram,  huskily.  And  when  she 
was  opposite  they  leaped  the  stone  wall. 

She  had  seasonable  alarm,  for  several  big  stones  rolled  off 
the  wall's  top.  And  she  turned  and  ran  down  the  road  with 
the  two  men  pounding  along  fiercely  in  pursuit. 

"My  Gawd!"  gasped  Aaron,  after  a  dozen  rods;  "talk 
about — gayzelles — she's — she's — 

He  didn't  finish  the  sentence,  preferring  to  save  his 
breath. 

But  skirts  are  an  awkward  encumbrance  in  a  sprinting 
match.  Hiram,  with  longer  legs  than  the  pudgy  Cap'n, 
drew  ahead  and  overhauled  the  fugitive  foot  by  foot.  And 
at  sound  of  his  footsteps  behind  her,  and  his  hoarse  grunt, 
"I've  got  ye!"  she  whirled  and,  before  the  amazed  showman 
could  protect  himself,  she  struck  out  and  knocked  him  flat 
on  his  back.  But  when  she  turned  again  to  run  she  stepped 
on  her  skirt,  staggered  forward  dizzily,  and  fell  in  a  heap. 
The  next  instant  the  Cap'n  tripped  over  Hiram,  tumbled 
heavily,  rolled  over  twice,  and  brought  up  against  the  pros 
trate  fugitive,  whom  he  clutched  in  a  grasp  there  was  no 
breaking. 

"Don't  let  her  hit  ye,"  howled  Hiram,  struggling  up. 
"She's  got  an  arm  like  a  mule's  hind  leg." 

"And  whiskers  like  a  goat!"  bawled  the  Cap'n,  choking 

181 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

in  utter  astonishment.     "Strike  a  match  and  let's  see  what 
kind  of  a  blamenation  catfish  this  is,  anyhow." 

And  a  moment  later,  the  Cap'n's  knees  still  on  the  writh 
ing  figure,  they  beheld,  under  the  torn  veil,  by  the  glimmer 
of  the  match,  the  convulsed  features  of  Batson  Reeves, 
second  selectman  of  the  town  of  Smyrna. 

"Well,  marm,"  remarked  Hiram,  after  a  full  thirty 
seconds  of  amazed  survey,  "you've  sartinly  picked  out  a 
starry  night  for  a  ramble." 

Mr.  Reeves  seemed  to  have  no  language  for  reply  except 
some  shocking  oaths. 

"That  ain't  very  lady-like  talk,"  protested  Look,  lighting 
another  match  that  he  might  gloat  still  further.  "You 
ought  to  remember  that  you're  in  the  presence  of  your  two 
'darlin's.'  We  can't  love  any  one  that  cusses.  You'll  be 
smokin'  a  pipe  or  chawin'  tobacker  next."  He  chuckled, 
and  then  his  voice  grew  hard.  "Stop  your  wigglin',  you 
blasted,  livin'  scarecrow,  or  I'll  split  your  head  with  a  rock, 
and  this  town  will  call  it  good  reddance.  Roll  him  over  onto 
his  face,  Cap'n  Sproul." 

A  generous  strip  of  skirt,  torn  off  by  Reeves's  boot,  lay  on 
the  ground.  Hiram  seized  it  and  bound  the  captive's  arms 
behind  his  back.  "Now  let  him  up,  Cap,"  he  commanded, 
and  the  two  men  helped  the  unhappy  selectman  to  his 
feet. 

"So  it's  you,  hey?"  growled  Hiram,  facing  him.  "Be 
cause  I've  come  here  to  this  town  and  found  a  good  woman 
and  married  her,  and  saved  her  from  bein'  fooled  into 
marryin'  a  skunk  like  you,  you've  put  up  this  job,  hey  ? 
Because  Cap'n  Sproul  has  put  you  where  you  belong  in  town 
business,  you're  tryin'  to  do  him,  too,  hey  ?  What  do  you 
reckon  we're  goin'  to  do  with  you  ?" 

182 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

It  was  evident  that  Mr.  Reeves  was  not  prepared  to  state. 
He  maintained  a  stubborn  silence. 

Cap'n  Sproul  had  picked  up  the  hat  with  the  tall  feather 
and  was  gingerly  revolving  it  in  his  hands. 

"You're  a  nice  widderer,  you  are!"  snorted  Hiram.  "A 
man  that  will  wear  a  deceased's  clothes  in  order  to  help  him 
break  up  families  and  spread  sorrow  and  misery  round  a 
neighborhood,  would  be  a  second  husband  to  make  a  woman 
both  proud  and  pleased.  Cap'n,  put  that  hat  and  veil  back 
onto  him.  I'll  hold  him." 

Mr.  Reeves  consented  to  stand  still  only  after  he  had  re 
ceived  a  half-dozen  open-handed  buffets  that  made  his  head 
ring. 

"There!"  ejaculated  Hiram,  after  the  Cap'n's  unaccus 
tomed  fingers  had  arranged  the  head-gear.  "Bein'  that 
you're  dressed  for  company,  we'll  make  a  few  calls.  Grab 
a-holt,  Cap'n." 

"I'll  die  in  my  tracks  right  here,  first,"  squalled  Reeves, 
guessing  their  purpose.  But  he  was  helpless  in  their  united 
clutch.  They  rushed  him  up  the  lane,  tramped  along  the 
piazza,  noisily,  jostled  through  the  front  door,  and  presented 
him  before  Hiram's  astounded  wife. 

"Mis'  Look,"  said  her  husband,  "here's  the  lady  that's 
in  love  with  me,  and  that  has  been  leavin'  me  letters.  It 
bein'  the  same  lady  that  was  once  in  love  with  you,  I  reckon 
you'll  appreciate  my  feelin's  in  the  matter.  There's  just 
one  more  clue  that  we  need  to  clinch  this  thing — and  that's 
another  one  of  those  letters.  The  Cap'n  and  I  don't  know 
how  to  find  a  pocket  in  a  woman's  dress.  We're  holdin' 
this  lady.  You  hunt  for  the  pocket,  Mis'  Look." 

The  amazement  on  her  comely  face  changed  to  sudden 
and  indignant  enlightenment. 

183 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"The  miserable  scalawag!"  she  cried.  The  next  instant, 
with  one  thrust  of  her  hand,  she  had  the  damning  evidence. 
There  were  two  letters. 

"She  ain't  delivered  the  one  to  darlin'  Cap'n  Sproul  this 
evenin',"  Hiram  remarked,  persisting  still  in  his  satiric  use 
of  the  feminine  pronoun.  "If  you'll  put  on  your  bonnet, 
Mis'  Look,  we'll  all  sa'nter  acrost  to  the  Cap'n's  and  see 
that  Louada  Murilla  gets  hers.  Near's  I  can  find  out,  the 
rules  of  this  special  post-ofHce  is  that  all  love-letters  to  us 
pass  through  our  wives'  hands." 

In  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Sproul,  after  the  excitement  of 
the  dramatic  entrance  had  subsided,  the  unhappy  captive 
attempted  excuses,  cringing  pitifully. 

"I  didn't  think  of  it  all  by  myself,"  he  bleated.  "It  was 
what  the  Dawn  woman  said,  and  then  when  I  mentioned 
that  I  had  some  grudges  agin'  the  same  parties  she  wrote 
the  notes,  and  the  perfessor  planned  the  rest,  so't  we  could 
both  get  even.  But  it  wasn't  my  notion.  I  reckon  he  mes 
merized  me  into  it.  I  ain't  to  blame.  Them  mesmerists 
has  awful  powers." 

"Ya-a-a-as,  that's  probably  just  the  way  of  it!"  sneered 
Hiram,  with  blistering  sarcasm.  "But  you'll  be  unmes- 
merized  before  we  get  done  with  you.  There's  nothin'  like 
makin'  a  good  job  of  your  cure,  seein'  that  you  was  unfort'- 
nit'  enough  to  get  such  a  dose  of  it  that  it's  lasted  you  a 
week.  Grab  him,  Cap'n." 

"What  be  ye  goin'  to  do  now?"  quavered  Reeves. 

"Take  you  down  into  the  village  square,  and,  as  foreman 
of  the  Ancient  and  Honer'ble  Firemen's  Association,  I'll 
ring  the  bell  and  call  out  the  department,  stand  you  up  in 
front  of  them  all  in  your  flounces  fine,  and  tell  'em  what 
you've  been  doin'  to  their  chief.  I  guess  all  the  heavy  work 

184 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

of  gettin'  even  with  you  will  be  taken  off'm  my  hands  after 
that." 

Reeves  groaned. 

"As  first  selectman,"  broke  in  the  Cap'n,  "and  interested 
in  keepin'  bad  characters  out  of  town,  I  shall  suggest  that 
they  take  and  ride  you  into  Vienny  on  a  rail." 

"With  my  fife  and  drum  corps  ahead,"  shouted  Hiram, 
warming  to  the  possibilities. 

"I'll  die  here  in  my  tracks  first!"  roared  the  captive. 

"It's  kind  of  apparent  that  Madame  Dawn  didn't  give 
you  lessons  in  prophesyin',  along  with  the  rest  of  her  in 
struction,"  remarked  Hiram.  "That  makes  twice  this 
evenin'  that  you've  said  you  were  goin'  to  die,  and  you're 
still  lookin'  healthy.  Come  along!  Look  happy,  for  you're 
goin'  to  be  queen  of  the  May,  mother!" 

But  when  they  started  to  drag  him  from  the  room  both 
women  interposed. 

"Hiram,  dear,"  pleaded  his  wife,  "please  let  the  man  go. 
Louada  Murilla  and  I  know  now  what  a  scalawag  he  is,  and 
we  know  how  we've  misjudged  both  you  and  Cap'n  Sproul, 
and  we'll  spend  the  rest  of  our  lives  showin'  you  that  we're 
sorry.  But  let  him  go!  If  you  make  any  such  uproar  as 
you're  talkin'  of  it  will  all  come  out  that  he  made  your  wives 
believe  that  you  were  bad  men.  It  will  shame  us  to  death, 
Hiram.  Please  let  him  go." 

"Please  let  him  go,  Aaron,"  urged  Mrs.  Sproul,  with  all 
the  fervor  of  her  feelings.  "It  will  punish  him  worst  if  you 
drop  him  here  and  now,  like  a  snake  that  you've  picked  up 
by  mistake." 

Cap'n  Sproul  and  Hiram  Look  stared  at  each  other  a  long 
time,  meditating.  They  went  apart  and  mumbled  in  col 
loquy.  Then  the  Cap'n  trudged  to  his  front  door,  opened 

185 


THE    SKIPPER    AND    THE    SKIPPED 

it,  and  held  it  open.  Hiram  cut  the  strip  that  bound  their 
captive's  wrists. 

The  second  selectman  had  not  the  courage  to  raise  his 
eyes  to  meet  the  stares  directed  on  him.  With  head  bowed 
and  the  tall  feather  nodding  over  his  face  he  slunk  out  into 
the  night.  And  Hiram  and  the  Cap'n  called  after  him  in 
jovial  chorus: 

"Good-night,  marm!" 

"This  settling  down  in  life  seems  to  be  more  or  less  of  a 
complicated  performance,"  observed  Cap'n  Sproul  when  the 
four  of  them  were  alone,  "but  just  at  this  minute  I  feel 
pretty  well  settled.  I  reckon  I've  impressed  it  on  a  few  dis 
turbers  in  this  town  that  I'm  the  sort  of  a  man  that's  better 
left  alone.  It  looks  to  me  like  a  long,  calm  spell  of  weather 
ahead." 


XVII 

R.  GAMMON'S  entrance  into  the  office 
of  the  first  selectman  of  Smyrna  was 
unobtrusive.  In  fact,  to  employ  a  par 
adox,  it  was  so  unobtrusive  as  to  be 
5=?  almost  spectacular. 

The  door  opened  just  about  wide  enough  to  admit  a  cat, 
were  that  cat  sufficiently  slab-sided,  and  Mr.  Gammon  slid 
his  lath-like  form  in  edgewise.  He  stood  beside  the  door 
after  he  had  shut  it  softly  behind  him.  He  gazed  forlornly 
at  Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul,  first  selectman.  Outside  sounded 
a  plaintive  "  Squawnk!" 

Cap'n  Sproul  at  that  moment  had  his  fist  up  ready  to 
spack  it  down  into  his  palm  to  add  emphasis  to  some  par 
ticularly  violent  observation  he  was  just  then  making  to 
Mr.  Tate,  highway  "surveyor"  in  Tumble-dick  District. 
Cap'n  Sproul  jerked  his  chin  around  over  his  shoulder  so 
as  to  stare  at  Mr.  Gammon,  and  held  his  fist  poised  in  air. 

"Squawnk!"  repeated  the  plaintive  voice  outside. 

Mr.  Gammon  had  a  head  narrowed  in  the  shape  of  an 
old-fashioned  coffin,  and  the  impression  it  produced  was 
fully  as  doleful.  His  neighbors  in  that  remote  section  of 
Smyrna  known  as  "Purgatory,"  having  the  saving  grace  of 
humor,  called  him  "Cheerful  Charles." 

The  glare  in  the  Cap'n's  eyes  failed  to  dislodge  him,  and 
the  Cap'n's  mind  was  just  then  too  intent  on  a  certain  topic 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

to  admit  even  the  digression  of  ordering  Mr.  Gammon 
out. 

"What  in  the  name  of  Josephus  Priest  do  I  care  what 
the  public  demands  ?"  he  continued,  shoving  his  face  tow 
ard  the  lowering  countenance  of  Mr.  Tate.  "I've  built  our 
end  of  the  road  to  the  town-line  accordin'  to  the  line  of  sur 
vey  that's  best  for  this  town,  and  now  if  Vienny  ain't  got  a 
mind  to  finish  their  road  to  strike  the  end  of  our'n,  then  let 
the  both  of  'em  yaw  apart  and  end  in  the  sheep-pastur'. 
The  public  ain't  runnin'  this.  It's  me — the  first  selectman. 
You  are  takin'  orders  from  me — and  you  want  to  under 
stand  it.  Don't  you  nor  any  one  else  move  a  shovelful  of 
dirt  till  I  tell  you  to." 

Hiram  Look,  retired  showman  and  steady  loafer  in  the 
selectman's  office,  rolled  his  long  cigar  across  his  lips  and 
grunted  indorsement. 

" Squawnk!"    The  appeal  outside  was  a  bit  more  insistent. 

Mr.  Gammon  sighed.  Hiram  glanced  his  way  and  noted 
that  he  had  a  noose  of  clothes-line  tied  so  tightly  about  his 
neck  that  his  flabby  dewlap  was  pinched.  He  carried  the 
rest  of  the  line  in  a  coil  on  his  arm. 

"Public  says —       Mr.  Tate  began  to  growl. 

"Well,  what  does  public  say?" 

"Public  that  has  to  go  around  six  miles  by  crossro'ds  to 
git  into  Vienny  says  that  you  wa'n't  elected  to  be  no  crowned 
head  nor  no  Seizer  of  Rooshy!"  Mr.  Tate,  stung  by  mem 
ories  of  the  taunts  flung  at  him  as  surveyor,  grew  angry  in 
his  turn.  "I  live  out  there,  and  I  have  to  take  the  brunt  of 
it.  They  think  you  and  that  old  fool  of  a  Vienny  select 
man  that's  lettin'  a  personal  row  ball  up  the  bus'ness  of 
two  towns  are  both  bedeviled." 

"She's  prob'ly  got  it  over  them,  too,"  enigmatically  ob- 

188 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

served  Mr.  Gammon,  in  a  voice  as  hollow  as  wind  in  a 
knot-hole. 

This  time  the  outside  " Squawnk"  was  so  imperious  that 
Mr.  Gammon  opened  the  door.  In  waddled  the  one  who 
had  been  demanding  admittance. 

"It's  my  tame  garnder,"  said  Mr.  Gammon,  apologeti 
cally.  "He  was  lonesome  to  be  left  outside." 

A  fuzzy  little  cur  that  had  been  sitting  between  Mr. 
Tate's  earth-stained  boots  ran  at  the  gander  and  yapped 
shrilly.  The  big  bird  curved  his  neck,  bristled  his  feathers, 
and  hissed. 

"Kick  'em  out  of  here!"  snapped  the  Cap'n,  indignantly. 

"Any  man  that's  soft-headed  enough  to  have  a  gander 
followin'  him  round  everywhere  he  goes  ought  to  have  a 
guardeen  appointed,"  suggested  Mr.  Tate.  acidulously, 
after  he  had  recovered  his  dog  and  had  cuffed  his  ears. 

"My  garnder  is  a  gent  side  of  any  low-lived  dog  that  ever 
gnawed  carrion,"  retorted  Mr.  Gammon,  his  funereal  gloom 
lifting  to  show  one  flash  of  resentment. 

"Look  here!"  sputtered  the  Cap'n,  "this  ain't  any  Nat'ral 
History  Convention.  Shut  up,  I  tell  ye,  the  two  of  you! 
Now,  Tate,  you  can  up  killick  and  set  sail  for  home.  I've 
given  you  your  course,  and  don't  you  let  her  off  one  point. 
You  tell  the  public  of  this  town,  and  you  can  stand  on  the 
town-line  and  holler  it  acrost  into  Vienny,  that  the  end  of 
that  road  stays  right  there." 

Mr.  Tate,  his  dog  under  his  arm,  paused  at  the  door  to 
fling  over  his  shoulder  another  muttered  taunt  about  "be- 
devilment,"  and  disappeared. 

"Now,  old  button  on  a  graveyard  gate,  what  do  you 
want  ?"  demanded  Cap'n  Sproul,  running  eye  of  great  dis 
favor  over  Mr.  Gammon  and  his  faithful  attendant.  He 

1 8q 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

had  heard  various  reports  concerning  this  widower  recluse 
of  Purgatory,  and  was  prepared  to  dislike  him. 

"I  reckoned  she'd  prob'ly  have  it  over  you,  too,"  said 
Mr.  Gammon,  drearily.  "It's  like  her  to  aim  for  shinin' 
marks." 

Cap'n  Sproul  blinked  at  him,  and  then  turned  dubious 
gaze  on  Hiram,  who  leaned  back  against  the  whitewashed 
wall,  nesting  his  head  comfortably  in  his  locked  fingers. 

"If  she's  bedeviled  me  and  bedeviled  you,  there  ain't  no 
tellin'  where  she'll  stop,"  Mr.  Gammon  went  on.  "And 
you  bein'  more  of  a  shinin'  mark,  it  will  be  worse  for  you." 

"Look  here,"  said  the  first  selectman,  squaring  his  elbows 
on  the  table  and  scowling  on  "Cheerful  Charles,"  "if  you've 
come  to  me  to  get  papers  to  commit  you  to  the  insane  horse- 
pittle,  you've  proved  your  case.  You  needn't  say  another 
word.  If  it's  any  other  business,  get  it  out  of  you,  and  then 
go  off  and  take  a  swim  with  your  old  web-foot — there!" 

Mr.  Gammon  concealed  any  emotion  that  the  slur  pro 
voked.  He  came  along  to  the  table  and  tucked  a  paper 
under  the  Cap'n's  nose. 

"There's  what  Squire  Alcander  Reeves  wrote  off  for  me, 
and  told  me  to  hand  it  to  you.  He  said  it  would  show  you 
your  duty." 

The  selectman  stared  up  at  Mr.  Gammon  when  he  uttered 
the  hateful  name  of  Reeves.  Mr.  Gammon  twisted  the 
noose  on  his  neck  so  that  the  knot  would  come  under  his 
ear,  and  endured  the  stare  with  equanimity. 

With  spectacles  settled  on  a  nose  that  wrinkled  irefully, 
the  Cap'n  perused  the  paper,  his  eyes  growing  bigger.  Then 
he  looked  at  the  blank  back  of  the  sheet,  stared  wildly  at 
Mr.  Gammon,  and  whirled  to  face  his  friend  Look. 

"Hiram,"  he  blurted,  "you  listen  to  this:  'Pers'nally 

190 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

appeared  before  me  this  fifteenth  day  of  September  Charles 
Gammon,  of  Smyrna,  and  deposes  and  declares  that  by 
divers  arts,  charms,  spells,  and  magic,  incantations,  and  evil 
hocus-pocus,  one — one — ' ' 

"Arizima,"  prompted  Mr.  Gammon,  mournfully.  The 
Cap'n  gazed  on  him  balefully,  and  resumed: 

"'One  Arizima  Orff  has  bewitched  and  bedeviled  him, 
his  cattle,  his  chattels,  his  belongings,  including  one  calf, 
one  churn,  and  various  ox-chains.  It  is  therefore  the  opin 
ion  of  the  court  that  the  first  selectman  of  Smyrna,  as  chief 
municipal  officer,  should  investigate  this  case  under  the 
law  made  and  provided  for  the  detection  of  witches,  and 
for  that  purpose  I  have  put  this  writing  in  the  hands  of  Mr. 
Gammon  that  he  may  summon  the  proper  authority,  same 
being  first  selectman  aforesaid.'" 

"That  is  just  how  he  said  it  to  me,"  confirmed  "Cheerful 
Charles."  "He  said  that  it  was  a  thing  for  the  selectman 
to  take  hold  of  without  a  minute's  delay.  I  wish  you'd  get 
your  hat  and  start  for  my  place  now  and  forthwith." 

Cap'n  Sproul  paid  no  attention  to  the  request.  He  was 
searching  the  face  of  Hiram  with  eyes  in  which  the  light 
was  growing  lurid. 

"I'm  goin'  over  to  his  office  and  hosswhip  him,  and  I 
want  you  to  come  along  and  see  me  do  it."  He  crumpled 
the  paper  into  a  ball,  threw  it  into  a  corner,  and  stumped 
to  the  window. 

"It's  just  as  I  reckoned,"  he  raged.  "He  was  lookin* 
out  to  see  how  the  joke  worked.  I  see  him  dodge  back. 
He's  behind  the  curtain  in  his  office."  Again  he  whirled 
on  Hiram.  "After  what  the  Reeves  family  has  tried  to  do 
to  us,"  he  declared,  with  a  flourish  of  his  arm  designed  to 
call  up  in  Mr.  Look's  soul  all  the  sour  memories  of  things 

191 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

past,  "he's  takin'  his  life  in  his  hands  when  he  starts  in  to 
make  fun  of  me  with  a  lunatic  and  a  witch-story." 

Mr.  Gammon  had  recovered  the  dishonored  document, 
and  was  smoothing  it  on  the  table. 

"That's  twice  you've  called  me  a  lunatic,"  he  remon 
strated.  "You  call  me  that  again,  and  you'll  settle  for  slan 
der!  Now,  I've  come  here  with  an  order  from  the  court,  and 
your  duty  is  laid  before  you.  When  a  town  officer  has  sworn 
to  do  his  duty  and  don't  do  it,  a  citizen  can  make  it  hot  for 
him."  Mr.  Gammon,  his  bony  hands  caressing  his  legal 
document,  was  no  longer  apologetic.  "Be  you  goin'  to  do 
your  duty — yes  or  no  ?" 

"If — if — you  ain't  a — say,  what  have  you  got  that  rope 
around  your  neck  for?"  demanded  the  first  selectman. 

"To  show  to  the  people  that  if  I  ain't  protected  from  per 
secution  and  relieved  of  my  misery  by  them  that's  in  duty 
bound  to  do  the  same,  I'll  go  out  and  hang  myself — and  the 
blame  will  then  be  placed  where  it  ought  to  be  placed," 
declared  Mr.  Gammon,  shaking  a  gaunt  finger  at  the 
Cap'n. 

As  a  man  of  hard  common  sense  the  Cap'n  wanted  to 
pounce  on  the  paper,  tear  it  up,  announce  his  practical 
ideas  on  the  witchcraft  question,  and  then  kick  Mr.  Gam 
mon  and  his  gander  into  the  middle  of  the  street.  But  as 
town  officer  he  gazed  at  the  end  of  that  monitory  finger 
and  took  second  thought. 

And  as  he  pondered,  Hiram  Look  broke  in  with  a  word. 

"  I  know  it  looks  suspicious,  comin'  from  a  Reeves,"  said 
he,  "  but  I  hardly  see  anything  about  it  to  start  your  temper 
so,  Cap." 

"Why,  he  might  just  as  well  have  sent  me  a  writin'  to 
go  out  and  take  a  census  of  the  hossflies  between  here  and 

192 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

the  Vienny  town-line,"  sputtered  the  first  selectman;  "or 
catch  the  moskeeters  in  Snell's  bog  and  paint  'em  red,  white, 
and  blue.  I  tell  you,  it's  a  dirty,  sneakin',  underhand  way 
of  gettin'  me  laughed  at." 

"I  ain't  a  humorous  man  myself,  and  there  ain't  no — " 
began  Mr.  Gammon. 

"Shut  up!"  bellowed  the  Cap'n.  "It  was  only  last  week, 
Hiram,  that  that  old  gob  of  catmeat  over  there  that  calls 
himself  a  lawyer  said  I'd  taken  this  job  of  selectman  as  a 
license  to  stick  my  nose  into  everybody's  business  in  town. 
Now,  here  he  is,  rigging  me  out  with  a  balloon-jib  and 
stays'ls" — he  pointed  a  quivering  finger  at  the  paper  that 
Mr.  Gammon  was  nursing — "and  sendin'  me  off  on  a  tack 
that  will  pile  me  up  on  Fool  Rocks.  Everybody  can  say  it 
of  me,  then — that  I'm  stickin'  my  nose  in.  Because  there 
ain't  any  witches,  and  never  was  any  witches." 

"Ain't  witches?"  squealed  Mr.  Gammon.  "Why, 
you — 

But  Hiram  checked  the  outburst  with  flapping  palm. 

"Here!"  he  cried.  "The  two  of  you  wait  just  a  minute. 
Keep  right  still  until  I  come  back.  Don't  say  a  word  to 
each  other.  It  will  only  be  wasting  breath." 

He  went  out,  and  they  heard  him  clumping  up  the  stairs 
into  the  upper  part  of  the  town  house. 

He  came  back  with  several  books  in  the  hook  of  his  arm 
and  found  the  two  mute  and  not  amiable.  He  surveyed 
them  patronizingly,  after  he  had  placed  the  books  on  the 
table. 

"Gents,  once  when  I  was  considerably  younger  and  con 
sequently  reckoned  that  I  knew  about  all  there  was  to 
know,  not  only  all  the  main  points,  but  all  the  foot-notes,  I 
didn't  allow  anybody  else  to  know  anything.  And  I  used 

193 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

to  lose  more  or  less  money  betting  that  this  and  that  wasn't 
so.  Then  up  would  come  the  fellow  with  the  cyclopedy 
and  his  facts  and  his  riggers.  At  last  I  was  so  sure  of  one 
thing  that  I  bet  a  thousand  on  it,  and  a  fellow  hit  me  over 
the  head  with  every  cyclopedy  printed  since  the  time  Noah 
waited  for  the  mud  to  dry.  I  got  my  lesson !  After  that  I 
took  my  tip  from  the  men  that  have  spent  time  findin'  out. 
I'm  more  or  less  of  a  fool  now,  but  before  that  I  was  such 
a  fool  that  I  didn't  know  that  I  didn't  know  enough  to 
know  that  I  didn't  know." 

"What  did  you  bet  on?"  inquired  the  Cap'n,  with  a 
gleam  of  interest. 

"None  of  your  business!"  snapped  Hiram,  a  red  flush 
on  his  cheek.  "But  if  I'd  paid  more  attention  to  geography 
in  my  school  than  I  did  to  tamin'  toads  and  playin'  circus 
I  wouldn't  have  bet." 

He  opened  one  of  the  books  that  he  had  secured  in  his 
trip  to  the  town  library. 

"Now,  you  say  ofFhand,  Cap,  that  there  never  was  such 
a  thing  as  a  witch.  Well,  right  here  are  the  figgers  to  show 
that  between  1482  and  1784  more  than  three  hundred 
thousand  wimmen  were  put  to  death  in  Europe  for  bein' 
witches.  There's  the  facts  under  'Witches'  in  your  own 
town  cyclopedy." 

Cap'n  Sproul  did  not  appear  to  be  convinced. 

"There  it  is,  down  in  black  and  white,"  persisted  Hiram. 
"Now,  how  about  there  never  bein'  any  witches?"  He 
tapped  his  finger  on  the  open  page. 

"If  the  book  says  that,  witches  must  be  extinker  than 
dodos.  Your  cyclopedy  don't  say  anything  about  any  of 
'em  gettin'  away  and  comin'  over  to  this  country,  does  it  ?" 

"Of  course  we've  had  'em  in  this  country,"  said  Hiram, 

194 


opening  another  book.  "Caught  'em  by  the  dozen  in 
Salem!  Cotton  Mather  made  a  business  of  it.  You  don't 
think  a  man  like  Cotton  Mather  is  lettin'  himself  be  fooled 
on  the  witch  question,  do  you  ?  Here's  the  book  he  wrote. 
A  man  that's  as  pious  as  Cotton  Mather  ain't  makin'  up 
lies  and  writin'  'em  down,  and  puttin'  himself  on  record." 

"There's  just  as  many  witches  to-day  as  there  ever  was," 
cried  the  corroborative  Mr.  Gammon.  "The  trouble  is 
they  ain't  hunted  out  and  brought  to  book  for  their  infernal 
actions.  There's  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  folks  goin' 
through  this  life  pestered  all  the  time  with  trouble  that's 
made  for  'em  by  a  witch,  and  they  don't  know  what's  the 
matter  with  'em.  But  they  can't  fool  me.  I  know  witches 
when  I  see  'em.  And  when  she  turns  herself  into  a  cat 
and—" 

"Does  what?"  demanded  the  Cap'n,  testily. 

"Why,  it  wa'n't  more'n  three  nights  ago  that  I  heard  her 
yowlin'  away  in  my  barn  chamber,  and  there  she  was, 
turned  into  a  cat  most  as  big  as  a  ca'f,  and  I  throwed  an 
iron  kittle  at  her  and  she  come  right  through  the  bottom 
of  it  like  it  was  a  paper  hoop.  There,  now!  What  have 
you  got  to  say  to  that  ?" 

"That  you  are  about  as  handy  a  liar  as  I  ever  had  stand 
up  in  front  of  me,"  returned  the  Cap'n,  with  Animation. 
He  whirled  on  Hiram  and  gesticulated  at  the  books.  "Do 
you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you're  standin'  in  with  him  on  any 
such  jing-bedoozled,  blame'  foolishness  as  this  ?  I  took 
you  to  be  man-grown." 

"It's  always  easy  enough  to  r'ar  up  in  this  world  and 
blart  that  things  ain't  so,"  snapped  Hiram,  with  some  heat. 
"Fools  do  that  thing  right  along.     I  don't  want  you  to  be 
that  kind.     Live  and  learn." 
14  195 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"Witches  or  no  witches,  cyclopedy  or  no  cyclopedy,  what 
I  want  to  know  is,  do  you  want  to  have  it  passed  round  this 
community  that  the  two  of  us  set  here — men  that  have  been 
round  this  world  as  much  as  we  have — and  heard  a  man  tell 
a  cat-and-kittle  story  like  that,  and  lapped  it  down  ?  They'll 
be  here  sellin'  us  counterfeit  money  and  gold  bricks  next." 

Hiram  blinked  a  little  doubtfully  at  Mr.  Gammon,  and 
his  rope  and  gander,  and  probably,  under  ordinary  circum 
stances,  would  have  flouted  that  gentleman.  But  the  au 
thority  of  the  encyclopedia  gave  his  naturally  disputatious 
nature  a  stimulus  not  to  be  resisted.  Beating  the  page  with 
the  back  of  his  hand,  he  assembled  his  proof  that  there  had 
been  witches,  that  there  are  witches,  and  that  there  will  be 
more  witches  in  the  future.  And  he  wound  up  by  declar 
ing  that  Mr.  Gammon  probably  knew  what  he  was  talking 
about — a  statement  that  Mr.  Gammon  indorsed  with  a 
spirited  tale  of  how  his  ox-chains  had  been  turned  into 
mighty  serpents  in  his  dooryard,  and  had  thrashed  around 
there  all  night  to  his  unutterable  distress  and  alarm.  Again 
he  demanded  investigation  of  his  case,  and  protection  by 
the  authorities. 

In  this  appeal  he  was  backed  by  Hiram,  who  volunteered 
his  assistance  in  making  the  investigation.  And  in  the  end, 
Cap'n  Sproul,  as  first  selectman  of  Smyrna,  consented  to 
visit  the  scene  of  alleged  enchantment  in  "Purgatory," 
though  as  private  citizen  he  criticised  profanely  the  state  of 
mind  that  allowed  him  to  go  on  such  an  errand.  He  gnawed 
his  beard,  and  a  flush  of  something  like  shame  settled  on  his 
cheek.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  allowing  himself  to 
be  cajoled  into  a  mild  spree  of  lunacy. 

"And  there  bein'  no  time  like  the  present,  and  my  horse 
bein'  hitched  out  there  in  the  shed,"  advised  Hiram,  brisk- 

196 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

ly,  "why  not  go  now?  Did  you  ride  out  from  your  place 
or  walk  ?"  he  inquired  of  "Cheerful  Charles." 

"Walked,"  replied  Mr.  Gammon,  dejectedly.  "My  hoss 
is  bewitched,  too.  Can't  get  him  out  of  the  stable." 

"We'll  take  you  along  with  us,"  was  Hiram's  kindly 
proffer. 

"Him  and  that  gander?"  protested  the  Cap'n. 

"I  can  set  in  behind  with  the  garnder  under  my  arm," 
urged  Mr.  Gammon,  meekly. 

The  Cap'n  came  around  the  table  and  angrily  twitched 
the  rope  off  Mr.  Gammon's  neck.  That  much  concession 
to  the  convenances  he  demanded  with  a  vigor  that  his  dole 
ful  constituent  did  not  gainsay. 

When  they  drove  away  the  baleful  eye  of  the  first  select 
man  spied  Squire  Alcander  Reeves  furtively  regarding  them 
through  the  dingy  glass  of  his  office  window. 

"Me  off  witch-chasin'  and  him  standin'  there  grinnin' 
at  it  like  a  jezeboo!"  he  gritted.  And  he  surveyed,  with  no 
very  gracious  regard,  his  companions  in  this  unspeakable 
quest. 

When  they  were  well  out  of  the  village  Mr.  Gammon 
twisted  his  neck  and  sought  to  impart  more  information 
over  the  back  of  the  seat. 

"I  tell  you,  she's  a  cooler  when  it  comes  to  bedevilin'. 
She  had  an  old  Leghorn  hen  that  a  mink  killed  just  after 
the  hen  had  brought  out  a  brood  of  chickens.  And  what 
do  you  s'pose  she  done  ?  Why,  she  went  right  to  work  and 
put  a  cluck  onto  the  cat,  and  the  cat  has  brooded  'em  ever 
since." 

The  Cap'n  emitted  a  snort  of  disgust. 

"And  here  we  are,  two  sensible  men,  ridin'  around  over 
this  town  an'  tryin'  to  make  head  and  tail  out  of  such  guff 

197 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

as  that!  Do  you  pretend  to  tell  me  for  one  minute,  Hiram 
Look,  that  you  take  any  kind  of  stock  in  this  sort  of  thing  ? 
Now,  just  forget  that  cyclopedy  business  and  your  ancient 
history  for  a  few  minutes  and  be  honest.  Own  up  that  you 
were  arguin'  to  hear  yourself  talk,  and  that  you're  dragging 
me  out  here  to  pass  away  the  time." 

Hiram  scratched  his  nose  and  admitted  that  now  the 
Cap'n  had  asked  for  friendly  candor,  he  really  didn't  take 
much  stock  in  witches. 

"There!  I  knew  it!"  cried  the  selectman,  with  unction 
and  relief.  "And  now  that  you've  had  your  joke  and  done 
with  it,  let's  dump  out  old  coffin-mug  and  his  gander  and 
turn  round  and  go  back  about  our  business." 

But  Hiram  promptly  whipped  along. 

"Oh,  thunder!"  he  ejaculated.  "While  we're  about  it, 
we  might  as  well  see  it  through.  My  curiosity  is  sort  of 
stirred  up." 

The  Cap'n  was  angry  in  good  earnest  again. 

"Curiosity!"  he  snarled.  "Now  you've  named  it.  I 
wouldn't  own  up  to  bein'  such  a  pickid-nosed  old  maid  as 
that,  not  for  a  thousand  dollars!" 

Hiram  was  wholly  unruffled. 

"How  do  you  suppose  any  one  ever  knew  enough  to 
write  a  cyclopedy,"  said  he,  "if  they  didn't  go  investigate 
and  find  out  ?  They  went  official,  just  as  we  are  goin'  now." 

Hiram  seemed  to  take  much  content  in  that  phase  of  the 
situation,  feeling  that  mere  personal  inquisitiveness  was 
dignified  in  this  case  under  the  aegis  of  law  and  authority. 
It  was  exactly  this  view  of  the  matter  that  most  disturbed 
Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul,  for  that  hateful  Pharisee,  Squire 
Reeves,  had  supplied  the  law  to  compel  his  own  authority 
as  selectman. 

198 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

He  sat  with  elbows  on  his  knees,  gloomily  surveying  a 
dim  reflection  of  himself  in  the  dasher  of  Hiram's  wagon. 
In  pondering  on  the  trammels  of  responsibility  the  sour 
thought  occurred  to  him,  as  it  had  many  times  in  the  past 
year,  that  commanding  a  town  was  a  different  proposition 
from  being  ruler  of  the  Jefferson  P.  Benn  on  the  high  seas — 
with  the  odds  in  favor  of  the  Benn. 


XVIII 

i  HE  Cap'n  had  never  visited  that  retired 
part  of  the  town  called  "Purgatory."  He 
found  Mr.  Gammon's  homestead  to  be  a 
gray  and  unkempt  farm-house  from  which 
the  weather  had  scrubbed  the  paint.  The 
front  yard  was  bare  of  every  vestige  of  grass  and  contained 
a  clutter  that  seemed  to  embrace  everything  namable,  in 
cluding  a  gravestone. 

"What  be  ye  gettin'  ready  for — an  auction?"  growled 
the  Cap'n,  groutily,  his  seaman's  sense  of  tidiness  offended. 
"Who  do  you  expect  will  bid  in  a  second-hand  gravestone  ?" 

"It  ain't  second-hand,"  replied  the  owner,  reprovingly, 
as  he  eased  himself  out  of  the  wagon.  "Mis'  Gammon,  my 
first  wife,  is  buried  there.  'Twas  by  her  request.  She 
made  her  own  layin'-out  clothes,  picked  her  bearers  and 
music,  and  selected  the  casket.  She  was  a  capable  woman." 

"It's  most  a  wonder  to  me  that  he  ever  took  the  crape 
off'm  the  door-knob,"  remarked  Hiram,  in  a  husky  aside  to 
the  Cap'n,  not  intending  to  be  overheard  and  somewhat 
crestfallen  to  find  that  he  had  been. 

"I  didn't  for  some  time,  till  it  got  faded,"  explained  Mr. 
Gammon,  without  display  of  resentment.  "I  had  the 
casket-plate  mounted  on  black  velvet  and  framed.  It's  in 
the  settin'-room.  I'll  show  it  to  you  before  you  leave." 

Hiram  pulled  his  mouth  to  one  side  and  hissed  under 

200 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

shelter  of  his  big  mustache:  "Well,  just  what  a  witch  would 
want  of  that  feller,  unless  'twas  to  make  cracked  ice  of  him, 
blame  me  if  I  know!" 

Mr.  Gammon  began  apprehensive  survey  of  his  do 
mains. 

"Let's  go  home,"  muttered  the  Cap'n,  his  one  idea  of 
retreat  still  with  him.  "What  do  you  and  I  know  about 
witches,  anyway,  even  if  there  are  such  things  ?  We've 
done  our  duty!  We've  been  here.  If  he  gets  us  to  investi- 
gatin'  it  will  be  just  like  him  to  want  us  to  dig  that  woman 
up." 

His  appeal  was  suddenly  interrupted.  Mr.  Gammon, 
peering  about  his  premises  for  fresh  evidences  of  witchcraft 
accomplished  during  his  absence,  bellowed  frantic  request 
to  "Come,  see!"  He  was  behind  the  barn,  and  they  hast 
ened  thither. 

"My  Gawd,  gents,  they've  witched  the  ca'f!"  Their 
eyes  followed  the  direction  of  his  quivering  finger. 

A  calf  was  placidly  surveying  them  from  among  the 
branches  of  a  "Sopsy-vine"  apple-tree,  munching  an  apple 
that  he  had  been  able  to  reach.  Whatever  agency  had 
boosted  him  there  had  left  him  wedged  into  the  crotch  of 
the  limbs  so  that  he  could  not  move,  though  he  appeared 
to  be  comfortable. 

"It  jest  takes  all  the  buckram  out  of  me — them  sights 
do,"  wailed  Mr.  Gammon.  "I  can't  climb  up  there  and 
do  it.  One  of  you  will  have  to."  He  pulled  out  a  big  jack- 
knife,  opened  it  with  his  yellow  teeth,  and  extended  it. 

"Have  to  do  what  ?"  demanded  Hiram. 

"Cut  off  his  ears  and  tail.  That's  the  only  way  to  get 
him  out  from  under  the  charm." 

But  Hiram,  squinting  up  to  assure  himself  that  the  calf 

20 1 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

was  comfortable,  pushed  Mr.  Gammon  back  and  made  him 
sit  down  on  a  pile  of  bean-poles. 

"Better  put  your  hat  between  your  knees,"  he  suggested, 
noting  the  way  Mr.  Gammon's  thin  knees  were  jigging. 
"You  might  knock  a  sliver  off  the  bones,  rappin'  them  to 
gether  that  way." 

He  lighted  one  of  his  long  cigars,  his  shrewd  eyes  search 
ing  Mr.  Gammon  all  the  time. 

"Now,"  said  he,  tipping  down  a  battered  wheelbarrow 
and  sitting  on  it,  "there's  nothin'  like  gettin'  down  to  cases. 
We're  here  official.  The  first  selectman  of  this  town  is 
here.  Go  ahead,  Cap'n  Sproul,  and  put  your  questions." 

"Ask  'em  yourself,"  snorted  the  Cap'n,  with  just  a  flicker 
of  resentful  malice;  "you're  the  witch  expert.  I  ain't." 

"Well,"  retorted  Hiram,  with  an  alacrity  that  showed 
considerable  zest  for  the  business  in  hand,  "I  never  shirked 
duty.  First,  what's  her  name  again — the  woman  that's 
doin'  it  all  ?" 

"I  want  you  to  come  and  see — "  began  Mr.  Gammon, 
apparently  having  his  own  ideas  as  to  a  witch-hunt,  but 
Hiram  shook  the  big  cigar  at  him  fiercely. 

"We  ain't  got  time  nor  inclination  for  inspectin'  coffin- 
plates,  wax-flowers,  bewitched  iron  kittles,  balky  horses, 
and  old  ganders.  Who  is  this  woman  and  where  does  she 
live,  and  what's  the  matter  with  her  ?" 

"She's  Arizima  Orff,  and  that's  her  house  over  the  rise 
of  that  land  where  you  can  see  the  chimblys."  Mr.  Gam 
mon  was  perfunctory  in  that  reply,  but  immediately  his  lit 
tle  blue  eyes  began  to  sparkle  and  he  launched  out  into  his 
troubles.  "There's  them  that  don't  believe  in  witches. 
I  know  that!  And  they  slur  me  and  slander  me.  I  know 
it.  I  don't  get  no  sympathy.  I — " 

202 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"Shut  up!"  commanded  the  chief  of  the  inquisition. 

"They  say  I'm  crazy.  But  I  know  better.  Here  I  am 
with  rheumaticks!  Don't  you  s'pose  I  know  where  I  got 
'em  ?  It  was  by  standin'  out  all  het  up  where  she  had 
hitched  me  after  she'd  rid'  me  to  one  of  the  witch  con 
ventions.  She — 

"Say,  you  look  here!"  roared  the  old  showman;  "you 
stay  on  earth.  Don't  you  try  to  fly  and  take  us  with  you. 
There's  the  principal  trouble  in  gettin'  at  facts,"  he  ex 
plained,  whirling  on  the  Cap'n.  "Investigators  don't  get 
down  to  cases.  Talk  with  a  stutterer,  and  if  you  don't  look 
sharp  you'll  get  to  stutterin'  yourself.  Now,  if  we  don't 
look  out,  Gammon  here  will  have  us  believin'  in  witches 
before  we've  investigated." 

"You  been  sayin'  right  along  that  you  did  believe  in 
'em,"  grunted  the  first  selectman. 

"Northin'  of  the  sort!"  declared  Hiram.  "I  was  only 
showin'  you  that  when  you  rose  up  and  hollered  that  there 
never  was  any  witches  you  didn't  know  what  you  were 
talkin'  about." 

While  Cap'n  Sproul  was  still  blinking  at  him,  trying  to 
comprehend  the  exact  status  of  Hiram's  belief,  that  forceful 
inquisitor,  who  had  been  holding  his  victim  in  check  with 
upraised  and  admonitory  digit,  resumed: 

"Old  maid  or  widder?" 

"Widder." 

"Did  deceased  leave  her  that  farm,  title  clear,  and  well- 
fixed  financially  ?" 

"Yes,"  acknowledged  Mr.  Gammon. 

"Now,"  Hiram  leaned  forward  and  wagged  that  au 
thoritative  finger  directly  under  the  other's  case-knife  nose, 
"what  was  it  she  done  to  you  to  make  you  get  up  this  witch- 

203 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

story  business  about  her?  Here!  Hold  on!"  he  shouted, 
detecting  further  inclination  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Gammon 
to  rail  about  his  bedevilment.  "You  talk  good  Yankee 
common  sense!  Down  to  cases!  What  started  this  ?  You 
can't  fool  me,  not  for  a  minute!  I've  been  round  the  world 
too  much.  I  know  every  fake  from  a  Patagonian  cockatoo 
up  to  and  including  the  ghost  of  Bill  Beeswax.  She  done 
something  to  you.  Now,  what  was  it  ?" 

Mr.  Gammon  was  cowed.  He  fingered  his  dewlap  and 
closed  and  unclosed  his  lips. 

"Out  with  it!"  insisted  Hiram.  "If  you  don't,  me  and 
the  selectman  will  have  you  sued  for  slander." 

"Up  to  a  week  ago,"  confessed  Mr.  Gammon,  gazing 
away  from  the  blazing  eyes  of  Hiram  into  the  placid  orbs 
of  the  calf  in  the  tree,  "we  was  goin'  to  git  married.  Farms 
adjoined.  She  knowed  me  and  I  knowed  her.  I've  been 
solemn  since  Mis'  Gammon  died,  but  I've  been  gittin'  over 
it.  We  was  goin'  to  jine  farms  and  I  was  goin'  to  live  over 
to  her  place,  because  it  wouldn't  be  so  pleasant  here  with 
Mis'  Gammon — 

He  hesitated,  and  ducked  despondent  head  in  the  direction 
of  the  front  yard. 

"Well,  seconds  don't  usually  want  to  set  in  the  front  par 
lor  window  and  read  firsts'  epitaphs  for  amusement,"  re 
marked  Hiram,  grimly.  "What  then  ?" 

"Well,  then  all  at  once  she  wouldn't  let  me  into  the  house, 
and  she  shooed  me  ofF'm  her  front  steps  like  she  would  a 
yaller  cat,  and  when  I  tried  to  find  out  about  it  that  young 
Haskell  feller  that  she's  hired  to  do  her  chores  come  over 
here  and  told  me  that  he  wasn't  goin'  to  stay  there  much 
longer,  'cause  she  had  turned  witch,  and  had  put  a  cluck 
onto  the  cat  when  the  old  hen — 

204 


"Tend  to  cases!  'Tend  to  cases!"  broke  in  Hiram, 
impatiently. 

"And  about  that  time  the  things  began  to  act  out  round 
my  place,  and  the  Haskell  boy  told  me  that  she  was  braggin' 
how  she  had  me  bewitched." 

"And  you  believed  that  kind  of  infernal  tomrot  ?"  in 
quired  the  showman,  wrathfully.  Somewhat  to  the  Cap'n's 
astonishment,  Hiram  seemed  to  be  taking  only  a  sane  and 
normal  view  of  the  thing. 

"I  did,  after  I  went  over  and  taxed  her  with  it,  and  she 
stood  off  and  pointed  her  shotgun  at  me  and  said  that  yes, 
she  was  a  witch,  and  if  I  didn't  get  away  and  keep  away 
she  would  turn  me  into  a  caterpillar  and  kill  me  with  a 
fly-spanker.  There!  When  a  woman  says  that  about 
herself,  what  be  ye  goin'  to  do — tell  her  she's  a  liar,  or  be  a 
gent  and  believe  her  ?"  Mr.  Gammon  was  bridling  a 
little. 

Hiram  looked  at  "Cheerful  Charles"  and  jerked  his 
head  around  and  stared  at  the  Cap'n  as  though  hoping  for 
some  suggestion.  But  the  selectman  merely  shook  his 
head  with  a  pregnant  expression  of  "I  told  you  so!" 

Hiram  got  up  and  stamped  around  the  tree  to  cover  what 
was  evidently  momentary  embarrassment.  All  at  once  he 
kicked  at  something  in  the  grass,  bent  over  and  peered  at 
it,  looked  up  at  the  calf,  then  picked  up  the  object  on  the 
ground  and  stuffed  it  deep  into  his  trousers  pocket. 

"You  said  that  chore  feller's  name  was  Haskell,  hey?" 
he  demanded,  returning  and  standing  over  Mr.  Gammon. 

"Simmy  Haskell,"  said  the  other. 

"Well,  now,  what  have  you  done  to  him?" 

"Nothin' — never — no,  sir — never  nothin'!"  insisted  Mr. 
Gammon,  with  such  utter  conviction  that  Hiram  forebore 

205 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

to  question  further.  He  whirled  on  his  heel  and  started 
away  toward  the  chimney  that  poked  above  the  rise  of  land. 

"Come  along!"  he  called,  gruffly,  over  his  shoulder,  and 
the  two  followed. 

It  was  a  trim  little  place  that  was  revealed  to  them.  A 
woman  in  a  sunbonnet  was  on  her  knees  near  some  plants 
in  the  cozy  front  yard,  and  a  youth  was  wheeling  apples  up 
out  of  the  orchard. 

The  youth  set  down  his  barrow  and  surveyed  them  with 
some  curiosity  as  they  came  up  to  him,  Hiram  well  ahead, 
looming  with  all  his  six  feet  two,  his  plug-hat  flashing  in  the 
sun.  Hiram  did  not  pause  to  palter  with  the  youth.  He 
grabbed  him  by  the  back  of  the  neck  with  one  huge  hand, 
and  with  the  other  tapped  against  the  Haskell  boy's  nose 
the  object  he  had  picked  up  from  the  grass. 

"Next  time  you  put  a  man's  calf  up  a  tree  look  out  that 
you  don't  drop  your  knife  in  the  wrassle." 

"Tain't  my  knife!"  gasped  the  accused. 

"Lie  to  me,  will  ye  ?  Lie  to  me — a  man  that's  associated 
with  liars  all  my  life  ?  Not  your  knife,  when  your  name  is 
scratched  on  the  handle  ?  And  don't  you  know  that  two 
officers  stood  right  over  behind  the  stone  wall  and  saw  you 
do  it  ?  Because  you  wasn't  caught  in  your  cat-yowlin' 
round  and  your  ox-chain  foolishness  and  your  other  didoes, 
do  you  think  you  can  fool  a  detective  like  me  ?  You  come 
along  to  State  Prison!  I  was  intendin'  to  let  you  off  if  you 
owned  up  and  told  all  you  know — but  now  that  you've  lied 
to  me,  come  along  to  State  Prison!" 

There  was  such  vengefulness  and  authority  in  the  big 
man's  visage  that  the  Haskell  boy  wilted  in  unconditional 
surrender. 

"He  got  me  into  the  scrape.  I'll  tell  on  him.  I  don't 

206 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

want  to  go  to  State  Prison,"  he  wailed,  and  then  confession 
flowed  from  him  with  the  steady  gurgle  of  water  from  a 
jug.  "He  come  to  me,  and  he  says,  says  he,  'He  won't 
ever  be  no  kind  of  a  boss  for  you.  If  he  marries  her  you'll 
get  fed  on  bannock  and  salt  pork.  He's  sourer'n  bonny- 
clabber  and  meaner'n  pig-swill.  Like  enough  he  won't 
keep  help,  anyway,  and  will  let  everything  go  to  rack  and 
ruin,  the  same  as  he  has  on  his  own  place.  I'm  the  one  to 
stick  to,'  says  he.  'I've  got  a  way  planned,  and  all  I  need 
is  your  help  and  we'll  stand  together,'  he  says,  'and  here's 
ten  dollars  in  advance.'  And  I  took  it  and  done  what  he 
planned.  I  needed  the  money,  and  I  done  it.  He  says 
to  me  that  we'll  do  things  to  him  to  make  him  act  crazy, 
and  we'll  tell  her  that  he's  dangerous,  and  then  you  can 
tell  him,  says  he,  that  she's  turned  witch,  and  is  doin'  them 
things  to  him;  "cause  a  man  that  has  got  his  first  wife 
buried  in  front  of  his  doorstep  is  fool  enough  to  believe 
most  anything,'  says  he." 

"Well,"  remarked  Hiram,  after  a  long  breath,  "this 
'sezzer,'  whoever  he  may  be,  when  he  got  to  sezzin',  seems 
to  have  made  up  his  mind  that  there  was  one  grand,  sweet 
song  of  love  in  this  locality  that  was  goin'  to  be  sung  by  a 
steam-calliope,  and  wind  up  with  boiler  bustin'." 

"Why  in  devilnation  don't  you  ask  him  who  'twas  that 
engineered  it  ?"  demanded  Cap'n  Sproul,  his  eyes  blazing 
with  curiosity. 

"An  official  investigation,"  declared  Hiram,  with  a  relish 
he  could  not  conceal,  as  he  returned  the  Cap'n's  earlier 
taunt  upon  that  gentleman  himself,  "is  not  an  old  maids' 
quiltin'-bee,  where  they  throw  out  the  main  point  as  soon's 
they  get  their  hoods  off,  and  then  spend  the  rest  of  the  after 
noon  talkin'  it  over.  Things  has  to  take  their  right  and 

207 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

proper  course  in  an  official  investigation.  I'm  the  official 
investigator." 

He  turned  on  Mr.  Gammon. 

"What  do  you  think  now,  old  hearse-hoss  ?  Have  you 
heard  enough  to  let  you  in  on  this  ?  Or  do  you  want  to  be 
proved  out  as  the  original  old  Mister  Easymark,  in  a  full, 
illustrated  edition,  bound  in  calf?  So  fur's  I'm  concerned, 
I've  heard  enough  on  that  line  to  make  me  sick." 

This  amazing  demolishment  of  his  superstition  left  Mr. 
Gammon  gasping.  Only  one  pillar  of  that  mental  structure 
was  standing.  He  grabbed  at  it. 

"I  didn't  believe  she  was  the  witch  till  she  told  me  so 
herself,"  he  stammered.  "She  never  lied  to  me.  I  be 
lieved  what  she  told  me  with  her  own  mouth." 

The  Haskell  boy,  still  in  the  clutch  of  Hiram,  evidently 
believed  that  the  kind  of  confession  that  was  good  for  the 
soul  was  full  confession. 

"I  told  her  that  the  time  you  was  dangerousest  was  when 
any  one  disputed  with  you  about  not  havin'  the  witches. 
I  told  her  that  if  you  ever  said  anything  she'd  better  join  in 
and  agree  with  you,  and  humor  you,  'cause  that's  the  only 
way  to  git  along  with  crazy  folks." 

For  the  first  time  in  many  years  color  showed  in  the  drab 
cheeks  of  the  melancholy  Mr.  Gammon.  Two  vivid  red 
spots  showed  that,  after  all,  it  was  blood,  not  water,  that 
flowed  in  his  veins. 

"Dod  lather  you  to  a  fritter,  you  little  freckle-faced,  snub- 
nosed  son  of  seco!"  he  yelped,  shrilly.  "I've  been  a  mild 
and  peaceable  man  all  my  life,  but  I'm  a  good  mind  to — 
I'm  a  good  mind  to — "  He  searched  his  meek  soul  for 
enormities  of  retribution,  and  declared:  "I'm  a  good  mind 
to  skin  you,  hide,  pelt,  and  hair.  I'll  cuff  your  ears  up  to 

208 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

a  pick,  any  way!"     But  Hiram  pushed  him  away  when  he 
advanced. 

"There!  That's  the  way  to  talk  up,  Gammon,"  he  said, 
encouragingly.  "You  are  showin'  improvement.  Keep  on 
that  way  and  you'll  get  to  be  quite  a  man.  I  was  afraid  you 
wasn't  anything  but  a  rusty  marker  for  a  graveyard  lot.  If 
you  don't  keep  your  back  up  some  in  this  world,  you're  apt 
to  get  your  front  knocked  in.  But  I  can't  let  you  lick  the 
boy !  This  investigation  is  strictly  official  and  according  to  the 
law,  and  he's  turned  State's  evidence.  It's  the  other  critter 
that  you  want  to  be  gettin'  your  muscle  up  for — the  feller  that 
was  tryin'  to  get  the  widder  and  the  property  away  from  you. 
All  the  other  evidence  now  bein'  in,  you  may  tell  the  court, 
my  son,  who  was  that  'sezzer.'  You  sha'n't  be  hurt!" 

"It  was  Mister  Batson  Reeves,  the  second  selectman," 
blurted  the  youth. 

There  are  moments  in  life  when  language  fails,  when 
words  are  vain;  when  even  a  whisper  would  take  the  edge 
from  a  situation.  Such  a  moment  seemed  that  one  when 
Hiram  Look  and  Cap'n  Sproul  gazed  at  each  other  after 
the  Haskell  boy  had  uttered  that  name. 

After  a  time  Hiram  turned,  seized  the  boy  by  the  scruff  of 
his  coat,  and  dragged  him  up  to  the  front-yard  fence,  where 
the  widow  was  gazing  at  them  with  increasing  curiosity. 

"Haskell  boy,"  commanded  Hiram,  "tell  her — tell  her 
straight,  and  do  it  quick." 

And  when  the  confession,  which  went  more  glibly  the 
second  time,  was  concluded,  the  investigator  gave  the  cul 
prit  a  toss  in  the  direction  of  the  Gammon  farm,  and  shouted 
after  him:  "Go  get  that  calf  down  out  of  that  apple-tree, 
and  set  down  with  him  and  trace  out  your  family  relation 
ship.  You'll  probably  find  you're  first  cousins." 

209 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Mrs.  Orff  had  sunk  down  weakly  on  a  bed  of  asters,  and 
was  staring  from  face  to  face. 

"Marm,"  said  Hiram,  taking  off  his  plug  hat  and  ad 
vancing  close  to  the  fence,  "Cap'n  Sproul  and  myself  don't 
make  it  our  business  to  pry  into  private  affairs,  or  to  go 
around  this  town  saving  decent  wimmen  from  Batson 
Reeves.  But  we  seem  to  have  more  or  less  of  it  shoved 
onto  us  as  a  side-line.  You  listen  to  me!  Batson  Reeves 
was  the  man  that  lied  to  the  girl  I  was  engaged  to  thirty 
years  ago,  and  broke  us  up  and  kept  us  apart  till  I  came 
back  here  and  licked  him,  and  saved  her  just  in  the  nick  of 
time.  What  do  you  think  of  a  man  of  that  stamp  ?" 

"I  didn't  really  like  him  as  well — as  well  as — "  quavered 
the  widow,  her  eyes  on  the  appealing  orbs  of  Mr.  Gam 
mon;  "but  I  was  told  I  was  in  danger,  and  he  wanted  to 
be  my  protector." 

"Protector!"  sneered  Hiram.  "Since  he's  been  a  wid- 
derer  he's  been  tryin'  to  court  and  marry  every  woman  in 
the  town  of  Smyrna  that's  got  a  farm  and  property.  We 
know  it.  We  can  prove  it.  All  he  wants  is  money!  You've 
just  escaped  by  luck,  chance,  and  the  skin  of  your  teeth 
from  a  cuss  that  northin'  is  too  low  for  him  to  lay  his  hand 
to.  What  do  you  think  of  a  man  that,  in  order  to  make 
trouble  and  disgrace  for  his  neighbors,  will  dress  up  in  his 
dead  wife's  clothes  and  snoop  around  back  doors  and 
write  anonymous  letters  to  confidin'  wimmen  ?" 

"My  Lawd!"  gasped  the  widow. 

"We  caught  him  at  it!  So,  as  I  say,  you've  escaped  from 
a  hyena.  Now,  Mr.  Gammon  only  needs  a  wife  like  you 
to  get  him  out  of  the  dumps." 

Mr.  Gammon  wiped  tears  from  his  cheeks  and  gazed 
down  on  her. 

210 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"Charles,"  she  said,  gently,  "won't  you  come  into  the 
house  for  a  few  minits  ?  I  want  to  talk  to  you!" 

But  as  Mr.  Gammon  was  about  to  obey  joyously,  Hiram 
seized  his  arm. 

"Just  a  moment,"  he  objected.  "We'll  send  him  right 
in  to  you,  marm,  but  we've  got  just  a  little  matter  of  busi 
ness  to  talk  over  with  him." 

And  when  they  were  behind  the  barn  he  took  Mr.  Gam 
mon  by  his  coat-collar  with  the  air  of  a  friend. 

"Gammon,"  said  he,  "what  are  you  goin'  to  do  to  him  ? 
Me  and  the  Cap'n  are  interested.  He'll  be  comin'  here  this 
evenin'.  He'll  be  comin'  to  court.  Now,  what  are  you 
goin'  to  do  ?" 

There  was  an  expression  on  Mr.  Gammon's  face  that  no 
one  had  ever  seen  there  before.  His  eyes  were  narrowed. 
His  pointed  tongue  licked  his  lips.  His  thin  hair  bristled. 

"What  are  you  goin'  to  do  to  him  ?" 

"Lick  him!"  replied  Mr.  Gammon.  It  was  laconic,  but 
it  sounded  like  a  rat-tail  file  on  steel. 

"You  can  do  it!"  said  Hiram,  cheerfully.  "The  Cap'n 
and  I  both  have  done  it,  and  it's  no  trouble  at  all.  I  was 
in  hopes  you'd  say  that!" 

"Lick  him  till  his  tongue  hangs  out!"  said  Mr.  Gammon, 
with  bitterer  venom. 

"That  will  be  a  good  place  to  lay  for  him;  right  down 
there  by  the  alders,"  suggested  the  Cap'n,  pointing  his 
finger. 

"Yes,  sir,  lick  him  till  his  own  brother  won't  know  him." 
And  Mr.  Gammon  clicked  together  his  bony  fists,  as  hard 
as  flints. 

"And  that's  another  point!"  said  Hiram,  hastily.  "You've 
seen  to-day  that  I'm  a  pretty  shrewd  chap  to  guess.  I've 
15  2ii 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

been  round  the  world  enough  to  put  two  and  two  together. 
Makin'  man  my  study  is  how  I've  got  my  property.  Now, 
Gammon,  you've  got  that  writin'  by  Squire  Alcander  Reeves. 
When  you  said  'brother'  it  reminded  me  of  what  I've  been 
ponderin'.  Bat  Reeves  has  been  making  the  Widder  Orff 
matter  a  still  hunt.  His  brother  wasn't  on.  When  you  went 
to  the  squire  to  complain,  squire  sa^  a  chance  to  get  the 
Cap'n  into  a  law  scrape — slander,  trespass,  malicious  mis 
chief — something!  Them  lawyers  are  ready  for  anything!" 

"Reg'lar  sharks!"  snapped  the  selectman. 

"Now,"  continued  Hiram,  "after  you've  got  Bat  Reeves 
licked  to  an  extent  that  will  satisfy  inquirin'  friends  and  all 
parties  interested,  you  hand  that  writin'  to  him!  It  will 
show  him  that  his  blasted  fool  of  a  lawyer  brother,  by  tryin' 
to  feather  his  own  nest,  has  lost  him  the  widder  and  her 
property,  got  him  his  lickin',  and  put  him  into  a  hole  gen- 
'rally.  Tell  him  that  if  it  hadn't  been  for  that  paper  drivin' 
us  out  here  northin'  would  have  been  known." 

Hiram  put  up  his  nose  and  drew  in  a  long  breath  of  pro 
phetic  satisfaction. 

"And  if  I'm  any  judge  of  what  '11  be  the  state  of  Bat 
Reeves's  feelin's  in  general  when  he  gets  back  to  the  village, 
the  Reeves  family  will  finish  up  by  lickin'  each  other — and 
when  they  make  a  lawsuit  out  of  that  it  will  be  worth 
while  wastin'  a  few  hours  in  court  to  listen  to.  How  do 
you  figger  it,  Cap'n  ?" 

"It's  a  stem-windin',  self-actin'  proposition  that's  wound 
up,  and  is  now  tickin'  smooth  and  reg'lar,"  said  the  Cap'n, 
with  deep  conviction.  "They'll  both  get  it!" 

And  they  did. 

Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul  and  Hiram  Look  shook  hands  on 
the  news  before  nine  o'clock  the  next  morning. 

212 


XIX 


R.  LOAMMI  CROWTHER  plodded  up 
the  road.  Mr.  Eleazar  Bodge  stumped 
down  the  road. 

They  arrived    at    the  gate  of  Cap'n 
Aaron  Sproul,  first  selectman  of  Smyrna, 
simultaneously. 

Bathed  in  the  benignancy  of  bland  Indian  summer,  Cap'n 
Sproul  and  his  friend  Hiram  Look  surveyed  these  arrivals 
from  the  porch  of  the  Sproul  house. 

At  the  gate,  with  some  apprehensiveness,  Mr.  Bodge  gave 
Mr.  Crowther  precedence.  As  usual  when  returning  from 
the  deep  woods,  Mr.  Crowther  was  bringing  a  trophy.  This 
time  it  was  a  three-legged  lynx,  which  sullenly  squatted  on  its 
haunches  and  allowed  itself  to  be  dragged  through  the  dust 
by  a  rope  tied  into  its  collar. 

"You  needn't  be  the  least  mite  afeard  of  that  bobcat," 
protested  Mr.  Crowther,  cheerily;  "he's  a  perfick  pet,  and 
wouldn't  hurt  the  infant  in  its  cradle." 

The  cat  rolled  back  its  lips  and  snarled.  Mr.  Bodge  re 
treated  as  nimbly  as  a  man  with  a  peg-leg  could  be  expected 
to  move. 

"I  got  him  out  of  a  trap  and  cured  his  leg,  and  he's  tur- 
rible  grateful,"  continued  Mr.  Crowther. 

But  Mr.  Bodge  trembled  even  to  his  mat  of  red  beard  as 
he  backed  away. 

213 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"Him  and  me  has  got  so's  we're  good  friends,  and  I  call 
him  Robert — Bob  for  short,"  explained  the  captor,  wistfully. 

"You  call  him  off — that's  what  you  call  him,"  shouted 
Mr.  Bodge.  "  I  hain't  had  one  leg  chawed  off  by  a  mowin'- 
machine  to  let  a  cust  hyeny  chaw  off  the  other.  Git  out  of 
that  gateway.  I've  got  business  here  with  these  gents." 

"So've  I,"  returned  Mr.  Crowther,  meekly;  and  he  went 
in,  dragging  his  friend. 

"I  done  your  arrunt,"  he  announced  to  the  Cap'n.  "I 
cruised  them  timberlands  from  Dan  to  Beersheby,  and  I'm 
ready  to  state  facts  and  riggers." 

"Go  ahead  and  state,"  commanded  the  Cap'n. 

"I  reckon  it  better  be  in  private,"  advised  the  other,  his 
pale-blue  eyes  resting  dubiously  on  Hiram. 

"I  ain't  got  no  secrets  from  him,"  said  the  Cap'n,  smartly. 
"Break  cargo!" 

"You'll  wish  you  heard  it  in  private,"  persisted  Mr. 
Crowther,  with  deep  meaning.  "It  ain't  northin'  you'll  be 
proud  of." 

"I'll  run  along,  I  guess!"  broke  in  the  old  showman.  "It 
may  be  something — " 

"It  ain't,"  snapped  the  Cap'n.  "It's  only  about  them 
timberlands  that  my  wife  owned  with  her  brother,  Colon'el 
Gideon  Ward.  Estate  wasn't  divided  when  the  old  man 
Ward  died,  and  since  we've  been  married  I've  had  power 
of  attorney  from  my  wife  to  represent  her."  His  jaw-mus 
cles  ridged  under  his  gray  beard,  and  his  eyes  narrowed  in 
angry  reminiscence. 

"We've  had  two  annual  settlements,  me  and  her  brother. 
First  time  'twas  a  free  fight — next  time  'twas  a  riot — third 
time,  well,  if  there  had  been  a  third  time  I'd  have  killed  him. 
So  I  saved  myself  from  State  Prison  by  dividin'  accordin'  to 

214 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

the  map,  and  then  I  sent  Crowther  up  to  look  the  property 
over.     There  ain't  no  secret.     You  sit  down,  Hiram." 

"  Considerin'  the  man,  I  should  think  you'd  have  done  your 
lookin'  over  before  you  divided,"  suggested  the  showman. 
He  scented  doleful  possibilities  in  Mr.  Crowther's  mien. 

"If  I'd  done  business  with  him  fifteen  minutes  longer  by 
the  clock  I'd  have  been  in  prison  now  for  murder — and  it 
would  have  been  a  bloody  murder  at  that,"  blurted  the 
Cap'n.  "It  had  to  be  over  and  done  with  short  and  sharp. 
He  took  half.  I  took  half.  Passed  papers.  He  got  away 
just  before  I  lost  control  of  myself.  Narrowest  escape  I 
ever  had.  All  I  know  about  the  part  I've  got  is  that  it's 
well  wooded  and  well  watered." 

"It  is,"  agreed  Mr.  Crowther,  despondently.  "It's  the 
part  where  the  big  reservoir  dam  flows  back  for  most  twenty 
miles.  You  can  sail  all  over  it  in  a  bo't,  and  cut  tooth 
picks  from  the  tops  of  the  second-growth  birch.  He  col 
lected  all  the  flowage  damages.  He's  lumbered  the  rest  of 
your  half  till  there  ain't  northin'  there  but  hoop  poles  and 
battens.  All  the  standin'  timber  wuth  anything  is  on  his 
half.  I  wouldn't  swap  a  brimstun'  dump  in  Tophet  for 
your  half." 

"  How  in  the  devil  did  you  ever  let  yourself  get  trimmed 
that  way?"  demanded  Hiram.  "It's  all  right  for  ten-year- 
old  boys  to  swap  jack-knives,  sight  unseen,  but  how  a  man 
grown  would  do  a  thing  like  you  done  I  don't  understand." 

"Nor  I,"  agreed  the  Cap'n,  gloomily.  "I  reckon  about 
all  I  was  thinkin'  of  was  lettin'  him  get  away  before  I  had 
blood  on  my  hands.  I'm  afraid  of  my  own  self  sometimes. 
And  it's  bad  in  the  family  when  you  kill  a  brother-in-law. 
I  took  half.  He  took  half.  Bein'  a  sailorman,  I  reckoned 
that  land  was  land,  acre  for  acre." 

215 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"The  only  man  I  ever  heard  of  as  bein'  done  wuss,"  con 
tinued  Mr.  Crowther,  "was  a  city  feller  that  bought  a 
quarter  section  of  township  'Leven  for  a  game-preserve,  and 
found  when  he  got  up  there  that  it  was  made  up  of  Misery 
Bog  and  the  south  slope  of  Squaw  Mountain,  a  ledge,  and 
juniper  bushes.  The  only  game  that  could  stay  there  was 
swamp-swogons,  witherlicks,  and  doodywhackits." 

"What's  them  ?"  inquired  the  Cap'n,  as  though  he  hoped 
that  he  might  at  least  have  these  tenants  on  his  worthless 
acres. 

"Woods  names  for  things  that  there  ain't  none  of," 
vouchsafed  Mr.  Crowther.  "You  owe  me  for  twenty-two 
days'  work,  nine  shillin's  a  day,  amountin'  to — " 

"Here!  Take  that  and  shut  up!"  barked  the  Cap'n, 
shoving  bills  at  him.  Then  he  wagged  a  stubby  finger  un 
der  Mr.  Crowther's  nose.  "Now  you  mark  well  what  I  say 
to  you!  This  thing  stays  right  here  among  us.  If  I  hear 
of  one  yip  comin'  from  you  about  the  way  I've  been  done, 
I'll  come  round  to  your  place  and  chop  you  into  mince-meat 
and  feed  you  to  that  animile  there!" 

"Oh,  I'm  ashamed  enough  for  you  so  that  I  won't  ever 
open  my  mouth,"  cried  Mr.  Crowther.  He  went  out 
through  the  gate,  dragging  his  sulky  captive. 

"And  you  needn't  worry  about  me,  neither,"  affirmed 
Mr.  Bodge,  who  had  been  standing  unnoted  in  the  shadow 
of  the  woodbine. 

"Of  course,"  he  continued,  "I  ain't  got  so  thick  with 
either  of  you  gents  as  some  others  has  in  this  place,  never 
likin'  to  push  myself  in  where  I  ain't  wanted.  But  I  know 
you  are  both  gents  and  willin'  to  use  them  right  that  uses 
you  right." 

It  was  not  exactly  a  veiled  threat,  but  it  was  a  hint  that 

216 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

checked  certain  remarks  that  the  Cap'n  was  about  to  ad 
dress  to  the  eavesdropper. 

Mr.  Bodge  took  advantage  of  the  truce,  and  seated  him 
self  on  the  edge  of  the  porch,  his  peg-leg  sticking  straight 
out  in  forlorn  nakedness. 

"Investments  is  resky  things  in  these  days,  Cap'n  Sproul. 
Gold-mines — why,  you  can't  see  through  'em,  nor  the  ones 
that  run  'em.  And  mark  what  has  been  done  to  you  when 
you  invested  in  the  forest  primeval!  I  knowed  I  was  comin' 
here  at  just  the  right  time.  I've  got  a  wonderful  power  for 
knowin'  them  things.  So  I  came.  I'm  here.  You  need  a 
good  investment  to  square  yourself  for  a  poor  one.  Here  it 
is!"  He  pulled  off  his  dented  derby  and  patted  his  bald 
head. 

"  Skatin'-rink  ?"  inquired  the  Cap'n,  sarcastically. 

"Brains!"  boomed  Mr.  Bodge,  solemnly.  "But  in  these 
days  brains  have  to  be  backed  with  capital.  I've  tried  to 
fight  it  out,  gents,  on  my  own  hook.  I  said  to  myself  right 
along,  'Brains  has  got  to  win  in  the  end,  Bodge.  Keep  on!' 
But  have  they  ?  No!  Five  hundred  partunts,  gents,  locked 
up  in  the  brains  of  Eleazar  Bodge!  Strugglin'  to  get  out! 
And  capital  pooled  against  me!  Ignoramuses  foolin'  the 
world  with  makeshifts  because  they've  got  capital  behind 
'em  to  boost  them  and  keep  others  down — and  Bodge  with 
five  hundred  partunts  right  here  waitin'."  Again  he  patted 
the  shiny  sphere  shoved  above  the  riot  of  hair  and  whiskers. 

The  Cap'n  scrutinized  the  surface  with  sullen  interest. 

"They'd  better  stay  inside,  whatever  they  are  you're 
talkin'  about,"  he  growled.  "They  couldn't  pick  up  no 
kind  of  a  livin'  on  the  outside." 

"Gents,  do  you  know  what's  the  most  solemn  sound  in 
all  nature  ?"  Mr.  Bodge  went  on.  "I  heard  it  as  I  came 

217 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

away  from  my  house.  It  was  my  woman  with  the  flour- 
barrel  ended  up  and  poundin'  on  the  bottom  with  the  rollin'- 
pin  to  get  out  enough  for  the  last  batch  of  biscuit.  The  long 
roll  beside  the  graves  of  departed  heroes  ain't  so  sad  as  that 
sound.  I  see  my  oldest  boy  in  the  dooryard  with  the  toes 
of  his  boots  yawed  open  like  sculpins'  mouths.  My  daugh 
ter  has  outgrown  her  dress  till  she  has  to  wear  two  sets  of 
wristers  to  keep  her  arms  warm — and  she  looks  like  dressed 
poultry.  And  as  for  me,  I  don't  dare  to  set  down  enough 
to  get  real  rested,  because  my  pants  are  so  thin  I'm  afraid 
I  can't  coax  'em  along  through  next  winter.  I've  come  to 
the  place,  gents,  where  I've  give  up.  I  can't  fight  the  trusts 
any  longer  without  some  backin'.  I've  got  to  have  some 
body  take  holt  of  me  and  get  what's  in  me  out.  I  reelize  it 
now.  It's  in  me.  Once  out  it  will  make  me  and  all  them 
round  me  rich  like  a — a — " 

When  Mr.  Bodge  halted  for  a  simile  Hiram  grunted  under 
his  breath:  "Like  a  compost  heap." 

"I  was  born  the  way  I  am — with  something  about  me  that 
the  common  run  of  men  don't  have.  How  is  it  my  brains 
gallop  when  other  brains  creep  ?  It's  that  mysterious  force 
in  me.  Seein'  is  believin'.  Proof  is  better  than  talkin'. 
Cap'n  Sproul,  you  just  take  hold  of  one  of  my  whiskers  and 
yank  it  out.  Take  any  one,  so  long's  it's  a  good  lengthy 
one." 

His  tone  was  that  of  a  sleight-of-hand  man  offering  a  pack 
of  cards  for  a  draw. 

The  Cap'n  obeyed  after  Mr.  Bodge  had  repeated  his  re 
quest  several  times,  shoving  his  mat  of  beard  out  invitingly. 

Mr.  Bodge  took  the  whisker  from  the  Cap'n's  hand, 
pinched  its  butt  firmly  between  thumb  and  forefinger  and 
elevated  it  in  front  of  his  face.  It  stuck  straight  up.  Then 

218 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

it  began  to  bend  until  its  tip  almost  touched  his  lips.  A 
moment  thus  and  it  bent  in  the  other  direction. 

"There!"  cried  Mr.  Bodge,  triumphantly.  "Thomas  A. 
Edison  himself  couldn't  do  that  with  one  of  his  whiskers." 

"You're  right,"  returned  Hiram,  gravely.  "He'd  have 
to  borrow  one." 

"A  man  that  didn't  understand  electricity  and  the  forces 
of  nature,  and  that  real  brains  of  a  genius  are  a  regular 
dynamo,  might  think  that  I  done  that  with  my  breath.  But 
there  is  a  strange  power  about  me.  All  it  needs  is  capital 
to  develop  it.  You've  got  the  capital,  you  gents.  This 
ain't  any  far-away  investment.  It's  right  here  at  home. 
I'm  all  business  when  it  comes  to  business."  He  stuck  up 
a  grimy  finger.  "You've  got  to  concede  the  mysterious 
power  because  you've  seen  it  for  yourselves.  Now  you  come 
over  to  my  house  with  me  and  I'll  show  you  a  few  inventions 
that  I've  been  able  to  put  into  shape  in  spite  of  the  damnable 
combination  of  the  trusts." 

He  slid  off  the  porch  and  started  away,  beckoning  them 
after  him  with  the  battered  derby. 

"I've  heard  'em  buzz  in  my  time,  too,"  sneered  Hiram, 
pushing  back  his  plug  hat,  "but  that  hummin'  is  about  the 
busiest  yet.  He  could  hold  a  lighted  taller  candle  in  his 
hand  and  jump  ofF'm  a  roof  and  think  he  was  a  comet." 

But  the  Cap'n  did  not  seem  to  be  disposed  to  echo  this 
scorn. 

"This  here  I've  got  may  be  only  a  notion,  and  it  prob'ly 
is,"  he  said,  knotting  his  gray  brows,  "and  it  don't  seem 
sensible.  First  sight  of  him  you  wouldn't  think  he  could  be 
used.  But  when  I  laid  eyes  on  old  Dot-and-carry-one  there, 
and  when  he  grabbed  into  this  thing  the  way  he  did  just  as 
I  was  thinkin'  hard  of  what  Colonel  Gid  Ward  has  done 

219 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

to  me,  it  came  over  me  that  I  was  goin'  to  find  a  use  for 
him." 

"How?"  persisted  the  utilitarian  Hiram. 

"Don't  have  the  least  idea,"  confessed  the  Cap'n.  "It's 
like  pickin'  up  a  stockin'  full  of  wet  mud  and  walkin'  along 
hopin'  that  you'll  meet  the  man  you  want  to  swat  with  it. 
I'm  goin'  to  pick  him  up." 

He  stumped  off"  the  piazza  and  followed  Mr.  Bodge.  And 
Hiram,  stopping  to  relight  his  cigar,  went  along,  too,  reflect 
ing  that  when  a  man  has  plenty  of  time  on  his  hands  he  can 
afford  to  spend  a  little  of  it  on  the  gratification  of  curiosity. 

The  first  exhibits  in  the  domain  of  Bodge  were  not  cheer 
ing  or  suggestive  of  value.  For  instance,  from  among  the 
litter  in  a  tumble-down  shop  Mr.  Bodge  produced  some 
thing  in  the  shape  of  a  five-pointed  star  that  he  called  his 
"Anti-stagger  Shoe." 

"I  saw  old  Ike  Bradley  go  past  here  with  a  hard-cider 
jag  that  looped  over  till  its  aidges  dragged  on  the  ground," 
he  explained.  "I  tied  cross-pieces  onto  his  feet  and  he  went 
along  all  level.  Now  see  how  a  quick  mind  like  mine  acts  ? 
Here's  the  anti-stagger  shoe.  To  be  kept  in  all  city  clubs 
and  et  cetry.  Let  like  umbrellas.  Five  places  in  each  shoe 
for  a  man  to  shove  his  foot.  Can't  miss  it.  Then  he  starts 
off  braced  front,  sides,  and  behind." 

Hiram  sniffed  and  the  Cap'n  was  pensive,  his  thoughts 
apparently  active,  but  not  concerned  in  any  way  with  the 
"Anti-stagger  Shoe." 

The  "Patent  Cat  Identifier  and  Introducer,"  exhibited  in 
actual  operation  in  the  Bodge  home,  attracted  more  favor 
able  attention  from  inspecting  capital.  Mr.  Bodge  ex 
plained  that  this  device  allowed  a  hard-working  man  to 
sleep  after  he  once  got  into  bed,  and  saved  his  wTife  from 

220 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

running  around  nights  in  her  bare  feet  and  getting  cold  and 
incurring  disease  and  doctors'  bills.  It  was  an  admitted 
fact  in  natural  history,  he  stated,  that  the  uneasy  feline  is 
either  yowling  to  be  let  out  or  meowing  on  the  window-sill 
to  be  let  in.  With  quiet  pride  the  inventor  pointed  to  a 
panel  in  the  door,  hinged  at  the  top.  This  permitted  egress, 
but  not  ingress. 

"An  ordinary,  cheap  inventor  would  have  had  the  panel 
swing  both  ways,"  said  Mr.  Bodge,  "and  he  would  have  a 
kitchen  full  of  strange  cats,  with  a  skunk  or  two  throwed  in 
for  luck.  You  see  that  I've  hinged  a  pane  of  winder-glass 
and  hitched  it  to  a  bevelled  stick  that  tips  inward.  Cat  gets 
up  on  the  sill  outside  and  meows.  Dog  runs  to  the  winder 
and  stands  up  to  see,  and  puts  his  paws  on  the  stick  because 
it's  his  nature  for  to  do  so.  Pane  tips  in.  If  it's  our  cat, 
dog  don't  stop  her  comin'  in.  If  it's  a  strange  cat — br-r-r, 
wow- wow!  Off  she  goes!" 

Mr.  Bodge  noted  with  satisfaction  the  gleam  of  interest  in 
capital's  eyes. 

"You  can  reckon  that  at  least  a  million  families  in  this 
country  own  cats — and  the  nature  of  cats  and  dogs  can  be 
depended  on  to  be  the  same,"  said  Mr.  Bodge.  "It's  a 
self-actin'  proposition,  this  identifier  and  introducer;  that 
means  fortunes  for  all  concerned  just  as  soon  as  capital  gets 
behind  it.  And  I've  got  five  hundred  bigger  partunts 
wrasslin'  around  in  my  head." 

But  Cap'n  Sproul  continued  to  be  absorbed  in  thought, 
as  though  the  solution  of  a  problem  still  eluded  him. 

"But  if  capital  takes  holt  of  me,"  proceeded  Mr.  Bodge, 
"I  want  capital  to  have  the  full  layout.  There  ain't  goin' 
to  be  no  reserves,  the  same  as  there  is  with  most  of  these 
cheatin'  corporations  these  days.  You  come  with  me." 

221 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

They  followed  him  into  a  scraggly  orchard,  and  he  broke 
a  crotched  limb  from  a  tree.  With  a  "leg"  of  this  twig 
clutched  firmly  in  either  hand  he  stumped  about  on  the 
sward  until  the  crotch  suddenly  turned  downward. 

"There's  runnin'  water  there,"  announced  the  wizard, 
stabbing  the  soil  with  his  peg-leg.  "I  can  locate  a  well  any 
where,  any  place.  When  I  use  wilier  for  a  wand  it  will  twist 
in  my  hands  till  the  bark  peels  off.  You  see,  I'm  full  of  it 
— whatever  it  is.  I  showed  you  that  much  with  the  whisker. 
I  started  in  easy  with  you.  It  makes  me  dizzy  sometimes 
to  foller  myself.  I  have  to  be  careful  and  let  out  a  link  at  a 
time,  or  I'd  take  folks  right  off'm  their  feet.  Now  you  come 
with  me  and  keep  cool — or  as  cool  as  you  can,  because  I'm 
goin'  to  tell  you  something  that  will  give  you  sort  of  a  mind- 
colic  if  you  ain't  careful  how  you  take  it  in." 

He  pegged  ahead  of  them,  led  the  way  around  behind  a 
barn  that  was  skeow-wowed  in  the  last  stages  of  dilapida 
tion,  and  faced  them  with  excitement  vibrating  his  streaming 
whiskers. 

"This,  now,"  he  declared,  "is  just  as  though  I  took  you 
into  a  national  bank,  throwed  open  the  safe  door,  and  said: 
'Gents,  help  yourselves!'" 

He  drew  a  curious  object  out  of  the  breast  pocket  of  his 
faded  jumper.  It  was  the  tip  of  a  cow's  horn  securely 
plugged.  Into  this  plug  were  inserted  two  strips  of  whale 
bone,  and  these  he  grasped,  as  he  had  clutched  the  "legs" 
of  the  apple-tree  wand. 

"One  of  you  lay  some  gold  and  silver  down  on  the 
ground,"  he  requested.  "I'd  do  it,  but  I  ain't  got  a  cent  in 
my  pocket." 

Hiram  obeyed,  his  expression  plainly  showing  his  cu 
riosity. 

222 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

When  Mr.  Bodge  advanced  and  stood  astride  over  the 
money,  the  cow's  horn  turned  downward  and  the  whalebone 
strips  twisted. 

"It's  a  divinin'-rod  to  find  buried  treasure,"  said  Mr. 
Bodge;  "and  it's  the  only  one  in  the  world  like  it,  because 
I  made  it  myself,  and  I  wouldn't  tell  an  angel  the  secret  of 
the  stuff  I've  plugged  in  there.  You  see  for  yourself  what 
it  will  do  when  it  comes  near  gold  or  silver." 

Hiram  turned  a  cold  stare  on  his  wistful  eagerness. 

"I  don't  know  what  you've  got  in  there,  nor  why  it  acts 
that  way,"  said  the  showman,  "but  from  what  I  know  about 
money,  the  most  of  it's  well  taken  care  of  by  the  men  that 
own  it;  and  just  what  good  it's  goin'  to  do  to  play  pointer- 
dog  with  that  thing  there,  and  go  round  and  flush  loose 
change  and  savin's-banks,  is  more  than  I  can  figger." 

Mr.  Bodge  merely  smiled  a  mysterious  and  superior  smile. 

"Cap'n  Sproul,"  said  he,  "in  your  seafarin'  days  didn't 
you  used  to  hear  the  sailormen  sing  this  ?"  and  he  piped  in 
weak  falsetto: 

"Oh,  I've  been  a  ghost  on  Cod  Lead  Nubble, 

Sence  I  died — sence  I  died. 
I  buried  of  it  deep  with  a  lot  of  trouble, 
And  the  chist  it  was  in  was  locked  up  double, 
And  I'm  a-watchin'  of  it  still  on  Cod  Lead  Nubble, 

Sence  I  died — sence  I  died." 

"It's  the  old  Cap  Kidd  song,"  admitted  the  Cap'n,  a 
gleam  of  new  interest  in  his  eyes. 

"As  a  seafarin'  man  you  know  that  there  was  a  Cap'n 
Kidd,  don't  you  ?" 

Cap'n  Sproul  wagged  nod  of  assent. 

"He  sailed  and  he  sailed,  and  he  robbed,  and  he  buried 
his  treasure,  ain't  that  so  ?" 

223 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"I  believe  that's  the  idea,"  said  the  Cap'n,  conservatively. 

"And  it's  still  buried,  because  it  ain't  been  dug  up,  or 
else  we'd  have  heard  of  it.  Years  ago  I  read  all  that  hist'ry 
ever  had  to  say  about  it.  I  said  then  to  myself,  'Bodge,' 
says  I,  'if  the  treasure  of  old  Cap  Kidd  is  ever  found,  it  will 
be  you  with  your  wonderful  powers  that  will  find  it!'  I 
always  said  that  to  myself.  I  know  it  now.  Here's  the 
tool."  He  shook  the  cow's  horn  under  the  Cap'n's  nose. 

"Why  ain't  you  been  down  and  dug  it  up  ?"  asked  Hiram, 
with  cold  practicality. 

"Diggin'  old  Cap  Kidd's  treasure  ain't  like  digging  a  mess 
of  potaters  for  dinner,  Mr.  Look.  The  song  says  '  Cod  Lead 
Nubble.'  Old  Cap  Kidd  composed  that  song,  and  he  put 
in  the  wrong  place  just  to  throw  folks  ofF'm  the  track.  But 
if  I  had  capital  behind  me  I'd  hire  a  schooner  and  sail  round 
them  islands  down  there,  one  after  the  other;  and  with  that 
power  that's  in  me  I  could  tell  the  right  island  the  minute 
I  got  near  it.  Then  set  me  ashore  and  see  how  quick  this 
divinin'-rod  would  put  me  over  that  chist!  But  it's  buried 
deep.  It's  goin'  to  take  muscle  and  grit  to  dig  it  up.  But 
the  right  crew  can  do  it — and  that's  where  capital  comes  in. 
Capital  ain't  ever  tackled  it  right,  and  that's  why  capital 
ain't  got  hold  of  that  treasure." 

"I  reckon  I'll  be  movin'  along,"  remarked  Hiram,  with 
resentment  bristling  the  horns  of  his  mustache;  "it's  the 
first  time  I  ever  had  a  man  pick  me  out  as  a  candidate  for  a 
gold  brick,  and  the  feelin'  ain't  a  pleasant  one." 

But  the  Cap'n  grasped  his  arm  with  detaining  grip. 

"This  thing  is  openin'  up.  It  ain't  all  clear,  but  it's 
openin'.  I  had  instink  that  I  could  use  him.  But  I 
couldn't  figger  it.  It  ain't  all  straightened  out  in  my  mind 
yet.  But  when  you  said  '  gold  brick '  it  seemed  to  be  clearer." 

224 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Hiram  blinked  inquiringly  at  his  enigmatic  friend. 

"It  was  what  I  was  thinkin'  of — gold  brick,"  the  Cap'n 
went  on.  "I  thought  that  prob'ly  you  knew  some  stylish 
and  reliable  gold-bricker — havin'  met  same  when  you  was 
travellin'  round  in  the  show  business." 

Replying  to  Mr.  Look's  indignant  snort  Cap'n  Sproul 
hastened  to  say:  "Oh,  I  don't  mean  that  you  had  any  gold- 
bricker  friends,  but  that  you  knew  one  I  could  hire.  Prob 
ably,  though,  you  don't  know  of  any.  Most  like  you  don't. 
I  realize  that  the  gold-bricker  idea  ain't  the  one  to  use. 
There's  the  trouble  in  findin'  a  reliable  one.  And  even 
when  the  feller  got  afoul  of  him,  the  chances  are  the  old 
land-pirut  would  steal  the  brick.  This  here" — jabbing 
thumb  at  Mr.  Bodge — "is  fresher  bait.  I  believe  the  old 
shark  will  gobble  it  if  he's  fished  for  right.  What's  your 
idea  ?" 

"Well,  generally  speakin',"  drawled  Hiram,  sarcastically, 
"it  is  that  you've  got  softenin'  of  the  brain.  I  can't  make 
head  or  tail  out  of  anything  that  you're  sayin'." 

Cap'n  Sproul  waked  suddenly  from  the  reverie  in  which 
he  had  been  talking  as  much  to  himself  as  to  Hiram. 

"Say,  look  here,  you  can  understand  this,  can't  you,  that 
I've  been  done  out  of  good  property — buncoed  by  a  jeeroosly 
old  hunk  of  hornbeam  ?" 

"Oh,  I  got  bulletins  on  that,  all  right,"  assented  Hiram. 

"Well,  from  what  you  know  of  me,  do  you  think  I'm  the 
kind  of  a  man  that's  goin'  to  squat  like  a  hen  in  a  dust-heap 
and  not  do  him  ?  Law  ?  To  Tophet  with  your  law! 
Pneumony,  lightnin',  and  lawyers — they're  the  same  thing 
spelled  different.  I'm  just  goin'  to  do  him,  that's  all,  and 
instink  is  whisperin'  how."  He  turned  his  back  on  the 
showman  and  ran  calculating  eye  over  Mr.  Bodge. 

225 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"I  don't  hardly  see  how  that  old  hair  mattress  there  is 
goin'  to  be  rung  in  on  the  deal,"  growled  Hiram. 

"Nor  I,"  agreed  the  Cap'n,  frankly;  "not  so  fur  as  the 
details  appear  to  me  just  now.  But  there's  something  about 
him  that  gives  me  hopes."  He  pulled  out  his  wallet,  licked 
his  thumb,  and  peeled  off  a  bill. 

"  Bodge,  so  fur's  I  can  see  now,  you  seem  to  be  a  good 
investment.  I  don't  know  just  yet  how  much  it  is  goin'  to 
take  to  capitalize  you,  but  here's  ten  dollars  for  an  option. 
You  understand  now  that  I'm  president  of  you,  and  my 
friend  here  is  sekertary.  And  you're  to  keep  your  mouth 
shut." 

Mr.  Bodge  agreed  with  effusive  gratitude,  and  capital  went 
its  way.  The  inventor  chased  after  them  with  thumping 
peg-leg  to  inquire  whether  he  should  first  perfect  the  model 
of  the  "cat  identifier,"  or  develop  his  idea  of  an  automatic 
chore-doer,  started  by  the  rooster  tripping  a  trigger  as  he 
descended  to  take  his  matutinal  sniff  of  air. 

"You  just  keep  in  practise  with  that  thing,"  commanded 
the  Cap'n,  pointing  to  the  cow's  horn. 

"I  don't  see  even  yet  how  you  are  goin'  to  do  it,"  re 
marked  Hiram,  as  they  separated  a  half-hour  later  at  Cap'n 
Sproul's  gate. 

"Nor  I,"  said  the  Cap'n;  "but  a  lot  of  meditation  and 
a  little  prayer  will  do  wonders  in  this  world,  especially  when 
you're  mad  enough." 


XX 


[HE  night  seemed  to  afford  counsel,  for  the  next 
day  Cap'n  Sproul  walked  into  the  dooryard 
of  Colonel  Gideon  Ward  with  features  com 
posed  to  an  almost  startling  expression  of 
amiability.  The  Colonel,  haunted  by  memo 
ries  and  stung  by  a  guilty  conscience,  appeared  at  the  door, 
and  his  mien  indicated  that  he  was  prepared  for  instant  and 
desperate  combat. 

At  the  end  of  a  half-hour's  discourse,  wholly  by  the 
Cap'n,  his  face  had  lost  a  measure  of  its  belligerency,  but 
sullen  fear  had  taken  its  place.  For  Cap'n  Sproul's  theme 
had  been  the  need  of  peace  and  mutual  confidence  in 
families,  forbearance  and  forgetfulness  of  injuries  that  had 
been  mutual.  The  Cap'n  explained  that  almost  always 
property  troubles  were  the  root  of  family  evils,  and  that  as 
soon  as  property  disputes  were  eliminated  in  his  case,  he  at 
once  had  come  to  a  realizing  sense  of  his  own  mistakes  and 
unfair  attitude,  and  had  come  to  make  frank  and  manly 
confession,  and  to  shake  hands.  Would  the  Colonel  shake 
hands  ? 

The  Colonel  shook  hands  apprehensively,  bending  back 
and  ready  to  duck  a  blow.  Would  the  Colonel  consent  to 
mutual  forgiveness,  and  to  dwell  thereafter  in  bonds  of 
brotherly  affection  ?  The  Colonel  had  only  voiceless  stam 
merings  for  reply,  which  the  Cap'n  translated  to  his  own 
16  227 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

satisfaction,  and  went  away,  casting  the  radiance  of  that 
startling  amiability  over  his  shoulder  as  he  departed. 
Colonel  Ward  stared  after  the  pudgy  figure  as  long  as  it  re 
mained  in  sight,  muttering  his  boding  thoughts. 

It  required  daily  visits  for  a  week  to  make  satisfactory 
impress  on  the  Colonel's  mistrustful  fears,  but  the  Cap'n 
was  patient.  In  the  end,  Colonel  Ward,  having  carefully 
viewed  this  astonishing  conversion  from  all  points,  accepted 
the  amity  as  proof  of  the  guileless  nature  of  a  simple  sea 
man,  and  on  his  own  part  reciprocated  with  warmth — lay 
ing  up  treasures  of  friendship  against  that  possible  day  of 
discovery  and  wrath  that  his  guilty  conscience  suggested. 

If  Colonel  Ward,  striving  to  reciprocate,  had  not  been  so 
anxious  to  please  Cap'n  Sproul  in  all  his  vagaries  he  would 
have  barked  derisive  laughter  at  the  mere  suggestion  of  the 
Captain  Kidd  treasure,  to  the  subject  of  which  the  simple 
seaman  aforesaid  led  by  easy  stages.  The  Colonel  ad 
mitted  that  Mr.  Bodge  had  located  a  well  for  him  by  use  of  a 
witch-hazel  rod,  but  allowed  that  the  buried-treasure  propo 
sition  was  too  stiff  batter  for  him  to  swallow.  He  did  come 
at  last  to  accept  Cap'n  Sproul's  dictum  that  there  was  once 
a  Captain  Kidd,  and  that  he  had  buried  vast  wealth  some 
where — for  Cap'n  Sproul  as  a  sailorman  seemed  to  be  en 
titled  to  the  possession  of  authority  on  that  subject.  But 
beyond  that  point  there  was  reservation  that  didn't  fit  with 
Cap'n  Sproul's  calculations. 

"Blast  his  old  pork  rind!"  confided  the  Cap'n  to  Hiram. 
"I  can  circle  him  round  and  round  the  pen  easy  enough,  but 
when  I  try  to  head  him  through  the  gate,  he  just  sets  back 
and  blinks  them  hog  eyes  at  me  and  grunts.  To  get  near 
him  at  all  I  had  to  act  simple,  and  I  reckon  I've  overdone 
it.  Now  he  thinks  I  don't  know  enough  to  know  that  old 

228 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Bodge  is  mostly  whiskers  and  guesses.  He's  known  Bodge 
longer'n  I  have,  and  Bodge  don't  seem  to  be  right  bait.  I 
can't  get  into  his  wallet  by  first  plan." 

"It  wasn't  no  kind  of  a  plan,  anyway,"  said  Hiram, 
bluntly.  "It  wouldn't  be  stickin'  him  good  and  plenty 
enough  to  have  Bodge  unloaded  onto  him,  just  Bodge  and 
northin'  else  done.  'Twasn't  complicated  enough." 

"I  ain't  no  good  on  complicated  plots,"  mourned  Cap'n 
Sproul. 

"You  see,"  insisted  Hiram,  "you  don't  understand  dealin' 
with  jay  nature  the  same  as  I  do.  Takes  the  circus  business 
to  post  you  on  jays.  Once  in  a  while  they'll  bite  a  bare 
hook,  but  not  often.  Jays  don't  get  hungry  till  they  see  sure 
things.  Your  plain  word  of  old  Cap  Kidd  and  buried 
treasure  sounds  good,  and  that's  all.  In  the  shell-game  the 
best  operator  lets  the  edge  of  the  shell  rest  on  the  pea  care- 
lesslike,  as  though  he  didn't  notice  it,  and  then  joggles  it 
down  over  as  if  by  accident;  and,  honest,  the  jay  hates  to 
take  the  money,  it  looks  so  easy!  In  the  candy-game 
there's  nothing  doin'  until  the  jay  thinks  he  catches  you 
puttin'  a  twenty-dollar  bill  into  the  package.  Then  look 
troubled,  and  try  to  stop  him  from  buyin'  that  package! 
You  ain't  done  anything  to  show  your  brother-in-law  that 
Bodge  ain't  a  blank." 

The  Cap'n  turned  discouraged  gaze  on  his  friend.  "I've 
got  to  give  it  up,"  he  complained.  "I  ain't  crook  enough. 
He's  done  me,  and  I'll  have  to  stay  done." 

Hiram  tapped  the  ashes  from  his  cigar,  musingly  surveyed 
his  diamond  ring,  and  at  last  said:  "I  ain't  a  butter-in. 
But  any  time  you  get  ready  to  holler  for  advice  from  friends, 
just  holler." 

"I  holler,"  said  the  Cap'n,  dispiritedly. 
229 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"Holler  heard  by  friends,"  snapped  Hiram,  briskly. 
"Friends  all  ready  with  results  of  considerable  meditation. 
You  go  right  over  and  tell  your  esteemed  relative  that  you're 
organizin'  an  expedition  to  discover  Cap  Kidd's  treasure, 
and  invite  him  to  go  along  as  member  of  your  family,  free 
gratis  for  nothin',  all  bills  paid,  and  much  obleeged  to  him 
for  pleasant  company." 

"Me  pay  the  bills  ?"  demanded  the  Cap'n. 

"Money  advanced  for  development  work  on  Bodge, 
that's  all!  To  be  taken  care  of  when  Bodge  is  watered 
ready  for  sale.  Have  thorough  understandin'  with  esteemed 
relative  that  no  shares  in  Bodge  are  for  sale.  Esteemed 
relative  to  be  told  that  any  attempt  on  the  trip  to  buy  into 
Bodge  will  be  considered  fightin'  talk.  Bodge  and  all  re 
sults  from  Bodge  are  yours,  and  you  need  him  along — 
esteemed  relative — to  see  that  you  have  a  square  deal.  That 
removes  suspicion,  and  teases  at  the  same  time." 

"Will  he  go  ?"  asked  Cap'n  Sproul,  anxiously. 

"He  will,"  declared  Hiram,  with  conviction.  "A  free 
trip  combined  with  a  chance  of  perhaps  doin'  over  again 
such  an  easy  thing  as  you  seem  to  be  won't  ever  be  turned 
down  by  Colonel  Gideon  Ward." 

At  nine  o'clock  that  evening  Cap'n  Sproul  knocked  at 
Hiram  Look's  front  door  and  stumped  in  eagerly.  "He'll 
go!"  he  reported.  "Now  let  me  in  on  full  details  of  plan." 

"Details  of  plan  will  be  handed  to  you  from  time  to  time 
as  you  need  'em  in  your  business,"  said  Hiram,  firmly.  "I 
don't  dare  to  load  you.  Your  trigger  acts  too  quick." 

"For  a  man  that  is  handlin'  Bodge,  and  is  payin'  all  the 
bills,  I  don't  seem  to  have  much  to  do  with  this  thing," 
grunted  the  Cap'n,  sullenly. 

"  I'll  give  you  something  to  do.  To-morrow  you  go  round 

230 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

town  and  hire  half  a  dozen  men — say,  Jackson  Denslow, 
Zeburee  Nute,  Brad  Wade,  Seth  Swanton,  Ferd  Parrott, 
and  Ludelphus  Murray.  Be  sure  they're  all  members  of 
the  Ancient  and  Honorable  Firemen's  Association." 

"Hire  'em  for  what?" 

"Treasure-huntin'  crew.  I'll  go  with  you.  I'm  their 
foreman,  and  I  can  make  them  keep  their  mouths  shut. 
I'll  show  you  later  why  we'll  need  just  those  kind  of  men." 

The  Cap'n  took  these  orders  with  dogged  resignation. 

"Next  day  you'll  start  with  Bodge  and  charter  a  packet 
in  Portland  for  a  pleasure  cruise — you  needin'  a  sniff  of  salt 
air  after  bein'  cooped  up  on  shore  for  so  long.  Report  when 
ready,  and  I'll  come  along  with  men  and  esteemed  relative." 

"It  sounds  almighty  complicated  for  a  plot,"  said  the 
Cap'n.  In  his  heart  he  resented  Hiram's  masterfulness  and 
his  secretiveness. 

"This  ain't  no  timber-land  deal,"  retorted  Hiram,  smartly, 
and  with  cutting  sarcasm.  "You  may  know  how  to  sail  a 
ship  and  lick  Portygee  sailors,  but  there's  some  things  that 
you  can  afford  to  take  advice  in." 

On  the  second  day  Cap'n  Sproul  departed  unobtrusively 
from  Smyrna,  with  the  radiant  Mr.  Bodge  in  a  new  suit  of 
ready-made  clothes  as  his  seat-mate  in  the  train. 

Smyrna  perked  up  and  goggled  its  astonishment  when 
Hiram  Look  shipped  his  pet  elephant,  Imogene,  by  freight 
in  a  cattle-car,  and  followed  by  next  train  accompanied  by 
various  tight-mouthed  members  of  the  Smyrna  fire  depart 
ment  and  Colonel  Gideon  Ward. 

Cap'n  Sproul  had  the  topmast  schooner  Aurilla  P.  Dobson 
handily  docked  at  Commercial  Wharf,  and  received  his  crew 
and  brother-in-law  with  cordiality  that  changed  to  lowering 
gloom  when  Hiram  followed  ten  minutes  later  towing  the 

231 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

placid  Imogene,  and  followed  by  a  wondering  concourse  of 
men  and  boys  whom  his  triumphal  parade  through  the 
streets  from  the  freight  -  station  had  attracted.  With  a 
nimbleness  acquired  in  years  of  touring  the  elephant  came 
on  board. 

Cap'n  Sproul  gazed  for  a  time  on  this  unwieldy  passenger, 
surveying  the  arrival  of  various  drays  laden  with  tackle, 
shovels,  mysterious  boxes,  and  baled  hay,  and  then  took 
Hiram  aside,  deep  discontent  wrinkling  his  forehead. 

"I  know  pretty  well  why  you  wanted  Gid  Ward  along  on 
the  trip.  I've  got  sort  of  a  dim  idea  why  you  invited  the 
Hecly  fire  department;  and  perhaps  you  know  what  we're 
goin'  to  do  with  all  that  dunnage  on  them  trucks.  But  what 
in  the  devil  you're  goin'  to  do  with  that  cust-fired  old  ele 
phant — and  she  advertisin'  this  thing  to  the  four  corners  of 
God's  creation — well,  it's  got  my  top-riggin'  snarled." 

"Sooner  you  get  your  crew  to  work  loadin',  sooner  you'll 
get  away  from  sassy  questions,"  replied  Hiram,  serenely, 
wagging  his  head  at  the  intrusive  crowd  massing  along  the 
dock's  edge.  And  the  Cap'n,  impressed  by  the  logic  of  the 
advice,  and  stung  by  the  manner  in  which  Hiram  had  em 
phasized  "sassy  questions,"  pulled  the  peak  of  his  cap  over 
his  eyes,  and  became  for  once  more  in  his  life  the  autocrat 
of  the  quarter-deck. 

An  hour  later  the  packet  was  sluggishly  butting  waves 
with  her  blunt  bows  in  the  lower  harbor,  Cap'n  Sproul  hang 
ing  to  the  weather-worn  wheel,  and  roaring  perfectly  awful 
profanity  at  the  clumsy  attempts  of  his  makeshift  crew. 

"I've  gone  to  sea  with  most  everything  in  the  line  of  cat- 
meat  on  two  legs,"  he  snarled  to  Hiram,  who  leaned  against 
the  rail  puffing  at  a  long  cigar  with  deep  content,  "but  I'll 
be  billy-hooed  if  I  ever  saw  six  men  before  who  pulled  on 

232 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

the  wrong  rope  every  time,  and  pulled  the  wrong  way  on 
every  wrong  rope.  You  take  them  and — and  that  elephant," 
he  added,  grimly  returning  to  that  point  of  dispute,  "and 
we've  got  an  outfit  that  I'm  ashamed  to  have  the  Atlantic 
Ocean  see  me  in  company  with." 

"Don't  let  that  elephant  fuss  you  up,"  s.aid  Hiram,  com 
placently  regarding  Imogene  couched  in  the  waist. 

"But  there  ain't  northin'  sensible  you  can  do  with  her." 

Hiram  cocked  his  cigar  pertly. 

"A  remark,  Cap'n  Sproul,  that  shows  you  need  a  general 
manager  with  foresight  like  me.  When  you  get  to  hoistin' 
dirt  in  buckets  she'll  be  worth  a  hundred  dollars  an  hour, 
and  beat  any  steam-winch  ever  operated." 

Again  the  Cap'n  felt  resentment  boil  sourly  within  him. 
This  doling  of  plans  and  plot  to  him  seemed  to  be  a  reflection 
on  his  intelligence. 

"Reckon  it's  buried  deep,  do  you?"  inquired  Colonel 
Ward,  a  flavor  of  satiric  skepticism  in  his  voice.  He  was 
gazing  quizzically  forward  to  where  Mr.  Bodge  sat  on  the 
capstan's  drumhead,  his  nose  elevated  with  wistful  eager 
ness,  his  whiskers  flapping  about  his  ears,  his  eyes  straight 
ahead. 

"It's  buried  deep,"  said  Hiram,  with  conviction.  "It's 
buried  deep,  because  there's  a  lot  of  it,  and  it  was  worth 
while  to  bury  it  deep.  A  man  like  Cap  Kidd  wa'n't  scoopin' 
out  a  ten-foot  hole  and  buryin'  a  million  dollars  and  goin' 
off  and  leavin'  it  to  be  pulled  like  a  pa'snip  by  the  first 
comer." 

"A  million  dollars!"  echoed  the  Colonel. 

"Northin'  less!  History  says  it.  There  was  a  lot  of 
money  flyin'  around  the  world  in  them  days,  and  Cap  Kidd 
knew  how  to  get  holt  of  it.  The  trouble  is  with  people, 

233 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Colonel,  they  forget  that  there  was  a  lot  of  gold  in  the  world 
before  the  'Forty-niners'  got  busy." 

"But  Bodge,"  snorted  the  Colonel.     "He—" 

"Certain  men  for  certain  things,"  declared  Hiram,  firmly. 
"Most  every  genius  is  more  or  less  a  lunatic.  It  needed 
capital  to  develop  Bodge.  It's  takin'  capital  to  make  Bodge 
and  his  idea  worth  anything.  This  is  straight  business  run 
on  business  principles!  Bodge  is  like  one  of  them  dirt 
buckets,  like  a  piece  of  tackle,  like  Imogene  there.  He's 
capitalized." 

"Well,  he  gets  his  share,  don't  he  ?"  asked  Colonel  Ward, 
his  business  instinct  at  the  fore. 

"Not  by  a  blame  sight,"  declared  Hiram,  to  the  Cap'n's 
astonished  alarm.  "It  would  be  like  givin'  a  dirt  bucket 
or  that  elephant  a  share." 

When  the  Cap'n  was  about  to  expostulate,  Hiram  kicked 
him  unobserved  and  went  on:  "I'm  bein'  confidential  with 
you,  Colonel,  because  you're  one  of  the  family,  and  of  course 
are  interested  in  seein'  your  brother-in-law  make  good. 
Who  is  takin'  all  the  resks  ?  The  Cap'n.  Bodge  is  only  a 
hired  man.  The  Cap'n  takes  all  profits.  That's  business. 
But  of  course  it's  between  us." 

When  Colonel  Ward  strolled  away  in  meditative  mood 
the  Cap'n  made  indignant  remonstrance. 

"Ain't  I  got  trouble  enough  on  my  hands  with  them  six 
Durham  steers  forrads  to  manage  without  gettin'  into  a  free 
fight  with  old  Bodge?"  he  demanded.  "There  ain't  any 
treasure,  anyway.  You  don't  believe  it  any  more'n  I  do." 

"You're  right!"  assented  Hiram. 

"But  Bodge  believes  it,  and  when  it  gets  to  him  that  we're 
goin'  to  do  him,  you  can't  handle  him  any  more'n  you  could 
a  wild  hyeny." 

234 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"When  you  hollered  for  my  help  in  this  thing,"  said  the 
old  showman,  boring  the  Cap'n  with  inexorable  eye,  "you 
admitted  that  you  were  no  good  on  complicated  plots,  and 
put  everything  into  my  hands.  It  will  stay  in  my  hands, 
and  I  don't  want  any  advice.  Any  time  you  want  to  operate 
by  yourself  put  me  and  Imogene  ashore  and  operate." 

For  the  next  twenty-four  hours  the  affairs  of  the  Aurilla 
P.  Dobson  were  administered  without  unnecessary  conver 
sations  between  the  principals. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day  Mr.  Bodge,  whom  no 
solicitation  could  coax  from  his  vigil  on  the  capstan,  broke 
his  trance. 

"That's  the  island,"  he  shouted,  flapping  both  hands  to 
mark  his  choice.  It  wasn't  an  impressive  islet.  There 
were  a  few  acres  of  sand,  some  scraggy  spruces,  and  a  thrust 
ing  of  ledge. 

Mr.  Bodge  was  the  first  man  into  the  yawl,  sat  in  its  bow, 
his  head  projected  forward  like  a  whiskered  figurehead,  and 
was  the  first  on  the  beach. 

"He's  certainly  the  spryest  peg-legger  I  ever  saw,"  com 
mented  Hiram,  admiringly,  as  the  treasure-hunter  started 
away,  his  cow's-horn  divining-rod  in  position.  The  mem 
bers  of  Hecla  fire  department,  glad  to  feel  land  under  their 
country  feet  once  more,  capered  about  on  the  beach,  sur 
veying  the  limited  attractions  with  curious  eyes.  Zeburee 
Nute,  gathering  seaweed  to  carry  home  to  his  wife,  stripped 
the  surface  of  a  bowlder,  and  called  excited  attention  to  an 
anchor  and  a  cross  rudely  hacked  into  the  stone. 

"It's  old  Cap  Kidd's  mark,"  whispered  Hiram  to  Colonel 
Ward.  And  with  keen  gaze  he  noted  the  Colonel's  tongue 
lick  his  blue  lips,  and  saw  the  gold  lust  beginning  to  gleam 
in  his  eyes. 

235 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Hiram  was  the  only  one  who  noted  this  fact:  that,  con 
cealed  under  more  seaweed,  there  was  a  date  whose  moder 
nity  hinted  that  the  inscription  was  the  work  of  some  loaf 
ing  yachtsman. 

As  he  rose  from  his  knees  he  saw  Mr.  Bodge  pause  on  a 
hillock,  arms  rigidly  akimbo,  the  point  of  the  cow's  horn 
directed  straight  down. 

"I've  found  it!"  he  squealed.  "It's  here!  Come  on, 
come  one,  come  all  and  dig,  for  God  sakes!" 

The  excitement  of  those  first  few  hours  was  too  much  for 
the  self-control  of  Colonel  Gideon  Ward's  avaricious  nature. 
He  hesitated  a  long  time,  blinking  hard  as  each  shovelful 
of  dirt  sprayed  against  the  breeze.  Then  he  grasped  an 
opportunity  when  he  could  talk  with  Cap'n  Sproul  apart, 
and  said,  huskily: 

"It's  still  all  guesswork  and  uncertain,  and  you  stand  to 
lose  a  lot  of  expense.  I  know  I  promised  not  to  talk  busi 
ness  with  you,  but  couldn't  you  consider  a  proposition  to 
stand  in  even  ?" 

The  Cap'n  glared  on  him  severely. 

"Do  you  think  it's  a  decent  proposition  to  step  up  to  me 
and  ask  me  to  sell  you  gold  dollars  for  a  cent  apiece  ?  When 
you  came  on  this  trip  you  understood  that  Bodge  was  mine, 
and  that  he  and  this  scheme  wa'n't  for  sale.  Don't  ever 
mention  it  again  or  you  and  me'll  have  trouble." 

And  Colonel  Ward  went  back  to  watch  the  digging,  angry, 
lusting,  and  disheartened. 

The  next  day  the  hole  was  far  enough  advanced  to  re 
quire  the  services  of  Imogene  as  bucket-lifter.  That  docile 
animal  obligingly  swam  ashore,  to  the  great  admiration  of 
all  spectators. 

On  that  day  it  was  noted  first  that  gloom  was  settling  on 

236 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

the  spirits  of  Mr.  Bodge.  The  gloom  dated  from  a  conver 
sation  held  very  privately  the  evening  before  between  Mr. 
Bodge  and  Colonel  Ward. 

Mr.  Bodge,  pivoting  on  his  peg-leg,  stood  at  the  edge  of 
the  deepening  hole  with  a  doleful  air  that  did  not  accord 
with  his  enthusiastic  claims  as  a  treasure-hunter.  That 
night  he  had  another  conference  with  Colonel  Ward,  and 
the  next  day  he  stood  beside  the  hole  and  muttered  con 
stantly  in  the  confidential  retirement  of  his  whiskers.  On 
the  third  day  he  had  a  murderous  look  in  his  eyes  every  time 
he  turned  them  in  the  direction  of  Cap'n  Sproul.  On  the 
night  of  the  fourth  day  Hiram  detected  him  hopping  softly 
on  bare  foot  across  the  cabin  of  the  Dobs  on  toward  the  state 
room  of  Cap'n  Sproul.  He  carried  his  unstrapped  peg-leg 
in  his  hand,  holding  it  as  he  would  a  weapon.  Detected, 
he  explained  to  Hiram  with  guilty  confusion  that  he  was 
walking  in  his  sleep.  The  next  night,  at  his  own  request, 
he  was  left  alone  on  the  island,  where  he  might  indulge 
in  the  frailty  of  somnambulism  without  danger  to  any 
one. 

Colonel  Ward,  having  missed  his  usual  private  conference 
with  Mr.  Bodge  that  night,  and  betraying  a  certain  uneasi 
ness  on  that  account,  gobbled  a  hurried  breakfast,  took  the 
dingy,  and  went  ashore  alone. 

Cap'n  Sproul  and  Hiram  Look,  stepping  from  the  yawl 
upon  the  beach  a  half-hour  later,  saw  the  Colonel's  gaunt 
frame  outlined  against  the  morning  sun.  He  was  leaning 
over  the  hole,  hands  on  his  knees,  and  appeared  to  be  very 
intently  engaged. 

"There's  something  underhanded  going  on  here,  and  I 
propose  to  find  out  what  it  is,"  growled  the  Cap'n. 

"Noticed  it,  have  you?"  inquired  Hiram,  cheerfully. 

237 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"I  notice  some  things  that  I  don't  talk  a  whole  lot  about." 

"I'm  glad  you  have,"  went  on  Hiram,  serenely  overlook 
ing  a  possible  taunt  regarding  his  own  reticence.  "It's  a 
part  of  the  plot,  and  plot  aforesaid  is  now  ripe  enough  to  be 
picked.  Or,  to  put  it  another  way,  I  figger  that  the  esteemed 
relative  has  bit  and  has  swallered  the  hook." 

"Ain't  it  about  time  I  got  let  in  on  this  ?"  demanded  the 
Cap'n,  with  heat. 

With  an  air  as  though  about  to  impart  a  vital  secret,  Hiram 
grasped  the  Cap'n's  arm  and  whispered:  "I'll  tell  you  just 
what  you've  got  to  do  to  make  the  thing  go.  You  say  'Yes' 
when  I  tell  you  to." 

Then  he  hurried  up  the  hill,  Cap'n  Sproul  puffing  at  his 
heels  and  revolving  venomous  thoughts. 

It  was  a  deep  hole  and  a  gloomy  hole,  but  when  the  two 
arrived  at  the  edge  they  could  see  Mr.  Bodge  at  the  bottom. 
His  peg-leg  was  unstrapped,  and  he  held  it  clutched  in  both 
hands  and  brandished  it  at  them  the  moment  their  heads 
appeared  over  the  edge. 

"And  there  you  be,  you  robber!"  he  squalled.  "You 
would  pick  cents  off'm  a  dead  man's  eyes,  and  bread  out  of 
the  mouths  of  infants."  He  stopped  his  tirade  long  enough 
to  suck  at  the  neck  of  a  black  bottle. 

"Come  on!  Come  one, s come  all!"  he  screamed.  "I'll 
split  every  head  open.  I'll  stay  here  till  I  starve.  Ye'll 
have  to  walk  over  my  dead  body  to  get  it." 

"Well,  he's  good  and  drunk,  and  gone  crazy  into  the  bar 
gain,"  snorted  the  Cap'n,  disgustedly. 

"It's  a  sad  thing,"  remarked  Colonel  Ward,  his  little, 
hard  eyes  gleaming  with  singular  fires,  and  trying  to  com 
pose  his  features.  "I'm  afraid  of  what  may  happen  if  any 
one  tries  to  go  down  there." 

238 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"I'll  come  pretty  near  to  goin'  down  into  my  own  hole  if 
I  want  to,"  blurted  the  Cap'n. 

"I'll  kill  ye  jest  so  sure's  hell's  a  good  place  to  thaw 
plumbin',"  cried  Mr.  Bodge.  "I've  got  ye  placed.  You 
was  goin'  to  steal  my  brains.  You  was  goin'  to  suck  Bodge 
dry  and  laugh  behind  his  back.  You're  an  old  thief  and 
liar." 

"There's  no  bald-headed  old  sosh  that  can  call  me  names 
— not  when  I  can  stop  it  by  droppin'  a  rock  on  his  head," 
stated  the  Cap'n  with  vigor. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  you'd  hurt  that  unfortunate 
man?"  inquired  Colonel  Ward.  "He  has  gone  insane,  I 
think.  He  ought  to  be  treated  gently.  I  probably  feel  dif 
ferent  about  it  than  either  of  you,  who  are  comparative 
strangers  in  Smyrna.  But  I've  always  known  Eleazar 
Bodge,  and  I  should  hate  to  see  any  harm  come  to  him.  As 
it  is,  his  brain  has  been  turned  by  this  folly  over  buried 
treasure."  The  Colonel  tried  to  speak  with  calmness  and 
dignity,  but  his  tones  were  husky  and  his  voice  trembled. 
"Perhaps  I  can  handle  him  better  than  any  of  the  rest  of 
you.  I  was  talkin'  with  him  when  you  came  up." 

"You  all  go  away  and  leave  me  with  Colonel  Gid  Ward," 
bawled  Bodge.  "He's  the  only  friend  I've  got  in  the  world. 
He'll  be  good  to  me." 

"It's  pretty  bad  business,"  commented  Hiram,  peering 
down  into  the  pit  with  much  apprehension. 

"It's  apt  to  be  worse  before  it's  over  with,"  returned  the 
Colonel. 

And,  catching  a  look  in  Hiram's  eyes  that  seemed  to  hint 
at  something,  he  called  the  showman  aside. 

"I  can't  talk  with  my  brother-in-law,"  he  began.  "He 
seems  to  get  very  impatient  with  me  when  we  try  to  talk 

239 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

business.     But  I've  got  a  proposition  to  make,  and  perhaps 
I  can  make  it  through  you." 

Then,  seeing  that  the  Cap'n  was  bending  malevolent  gaze 
on  them,  he  drew  Hiram  farther  away,  and  they  entered  into 
spirited  colloquy. 

"It's  this  way,"  reported  the  showman,  returning  at  last 
to  the  Cap'n,  and  holding  him  firmly  by  the  coat  lapel.  "As 
you  and  I  have  talked  it,  you've  sort  of  got  cold  feet  on  this 
treasure  proposition."  This  was  news  to  the  Cap'n,  but  his 
eyelids  did  not  so  much  as  quiver.  "Here  you  are  now  up 
against  a  man  that's  gone  crazy  and  that's  threatenin'  to  kill 
you,  and  may  do  so  if  you  try  to  do  more  business  with  him. 
Colonel  Ward  says  he's  known  him  a  good  many  years,  and 
pities  him  in  his  present  state,  and,  more  than  that,  has  got 
sort  of  interested  in  this  Cap  Kidd  treasure  business  him 
self,  and  has  a  little  money  he'd  like  to  spend  on  it — and  to 
help  Mr.  Bodge.  Proposition  by  Colonel  Ward  is  that  if 
you'll  step  out  and  turn  over  Mr.  Bodge  and  this  hole  to  him 
just  as  it  stands  he'll  hand  you  his  check  now  for  fifteen 
thousand  dollars,  and" — the  showman  hastened  to  stop  the 
Cap'n's  amazed  gasping  by  adding  decisively — "as  your 
friend  and  general  manager  of  this  expedition,  and  knowin' 
your  feelin's  pretty  well,  I've  accepted  and  herewith  hand 
you  check.  Members  of  Hecla  fire  company  will  please  take 
notice  of  trade.  Do  I  state  it  right,  Colonel  Ward  ?" 

The  Colonel,  with  high  color  mantling  his  thin  cheeks,  af 
firmed  hoarsely. 

"And,  bein'  induced  to  do  this  mostly  out  of  regard  for 
Mr.  Bodge,  he  thinks  it's  best  for  us  to  sail  away  so  that 
Mr.  Bodge  can  calm  himself.  We'll  send  a  packet  from 
Portland  to  take  'em  off".  They  would  like  to  stay  here  and 
prospect  for  a  few  days.  Right,  Colonel  Ward  ?" 

240 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

The  Colonel  affirmed  once  more. 

Casting  one  more  look  into  the  hole,  another  at  his  in 
explicable  brother-in-law,  and  almost  incredulous  gaze  at 
the  check  in  his  hand,  Cap'n  Sproul  turned  and  marched 
off  down  the  hill.  He  promptly  went  on  board,  eager  to  get 
that  check  as  far  away  from  its  maker  as  possible. 

It  was  an  hour  later  before  he  had  opportunity  of  a  word 
with  Hiram,  who  had  just  finished  the  embarkation  of 
Imogene. 

"My  Gawd,  Hiram!"  he  gasped,  "how  did  you  skin  this 
out  of  him  ?" 

"I  could  have  got  twenty-five  thousand  just  as  quick," 
replied  the  showman.  "You  take  a  complicated  plot  like 
that,  and  when  it  does  get  ripe  it's  easy  pickin'.  When  old 
Dot-and-carry  got  to  pokin'  around  in  that  hole  this  mornin' 
and  come  upon  the  chist  bound  with  iron,  after  scrapin' 
away  about  a  foot  of  dirt,  he  jest  naturally  concluded  he'd 
rather  be  equal  partners  with  Colonel  Gid  Ward  than  be 
with  you  what  I  explained  he  was  to  the  Colonel." 

"Chist  bound  with  iron  ?"  demanded  the  Cap'n. 

"Cover  of  old  planks  that  Ludelphus  and  I  patched  up 
with  strap  iron  down  in  the  hold  and  planted  after  dark  last 
night.  Yes,  sir,  with  old  Bodge  standin'  there  as  he  was 
to-day,  and  reportin'  to  Ward  what  he  had  under  foot,  I 
could  have  got  ten  thousand  more  out  of  esteemed  relative. 
But  I  reckoned  that  fifteen  thousand  stood  for  quite  a  lot 
of  profit  on  timber  lands." 

The  Cap'n  gazed  aloft  to  see  that  the  dingy  canvas  of  the 
Dobson  was  drawing,  and  again  surveyed  the  check. 

"I  reckon  I'll  cash  it  in  before  makin'  any  arrangements 
to  send  a  packet  out  after  'em,"  he  remarked. 

After  a  few  moments  of  blissful  contemplation  he  said, 
241 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

with  a  little  note  of  regret  in  his  voice:  "I  wish  you  had  let 
me  know  about  that  plankin'.  I'd  have  liked  to  put  a  little 
writin'  under  it — something  sarcastic,  that  they  could  sort  of 
meditate  on  when  they  sit  there  in  that  hole  and  look  at  each 
other. 

"It  was  certainly  a  complicated  plot,"  he  went  on.  "And 
it  had  to  be.  When  you  sell  a  bunch  of  whiskers  and  a  hole 
in  the  ground  for  fifteen  thousand  dollars,  it  means  more 
brain-work  than  would  be  needed  in  selling  enough  gold 
bricks  to  build  a  meetin'-house." 

And  with  such  and  similar  gratulatory  communings  they 
found  their  setting  forth  across  the  sunlit  sea  that  day  an  ad 
venturing  full  of  rich  contentment. 


XXI 


HE  sails  about  like  a  clam-shell  in  a  puddle 
of  Forty  Reek  m'lasses,"  remarked  Cap'n 
Aaron  Sproul,  casting  contemptuous  eye  into 
the  swell  of  the  dingy  mainsail,  and  noting 
the  crawl  of  the  foam-wash  under  the  counter 
of  the  Aunlla  P.  Dobson. 

But  he  could  not  infect  Hiram  Look  with  his  dissatisfac 
tion.  The  ex-circus  man  sat  on  the  deck  with  his  back 
against  the  port  bulwark,  his  knees  doubled  high  before  his 
face  as  a  support  for  a  blank-book  in  which  he  was  writing 
industriously.  He  stopped  to  lick  the  end  of  his  pencil,  and 
gazed  at  the  Cap'n. 

"I  was  just  thinkin'  we  was  havin'  about  as  pleasant  a 
sail  as  I  ever  took,"  he  said.  "Warm  and  sunny,  our  own 
fellers  on  board  havin'  a  good  time,  and  a  complicated  plot 
worked  out  to  the  queen's  taste." 

The  Cap'n,  glancing  behind,  noted  that  a  certain  scraggly 
island  had  once  more  slid  into  view  from  behind  a  wooded 
head.  With  his  knee  propped  against  the  wheel,  he  sur 
veyed  the  island's  ridged  backbone. 

"Plot  seems  to  be  still  workin',"  he  remarked,  grimly. 
"If  it  was  all  worked  they'd  be  out  there  on  them  ledges 
jumpin'  about  twenty  feet  into  the  air,  and  hollerin'  after  us." 
"Let's  whoa  here  and  wait  for  'em  to  show  in  sight,"  ad 
vised  Hiram,  eagerly.     "It  will  be  worth  lookin'  at." 
17  243 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"Hain't  no  need  of  slackin'  sail,"  snorted  the  skipper. 
"It's  about  like  bein'  anchored,  tryin'  to  ratch  this  old  tin 
skimmer  away  from  anywhere.  You  needn't  worry  any 
about  our  droppin'  that  island  out  of  sight  right  away." 

"For  a  man  that's  just  got  even  with  Colonel  Gideon 
Ward  to  the  tune  of  fifteen  thousand  dollars,  and  with  the 
check  in  your  pocket,  you  don't  seem  to  be  enjoyin'  the  com 
forts  of  religion  quite  as  much  as  a  man  ought  to,"  remon 
strated  Hiram. 

"It's  wadin'  a  puddle  navigatin'  this  way,"  complained 
the  Cap'n,  his  eyes  on  the  penning  shores  of  the  reach;  "and 
it  makes  me  homesick  when  I  think  of  my  old  four-sticker 
pilin'  white  water  to  her  bowsprit's  scroll  and  chewin'  foam 
with  her  jumper-guys.  Deep  water,  Hiram!  Deep  water, 
with  a  wind  and  four  sticks,  and  I'd  show  ye!" 

"There's  something  the  matter  with  a  man  that  can't  get 
fun  out  of  anything  except  a  three-ring  circus,"  said  his 
friend,  severely.  "I'm  contented  with  one  elephant  these 
days.  It's  all  the  responsibility  I  want."  His  eyes  dwelt 
fondly  on  the  placid  Imogene,  couchant  amidships.  Then 
he  lighted  a  cigar,  using  his  plug  hat  for  a  wind-break,  and 
resumed  his  labors  with  the  pencil. 

"What  be  ye  writin' — a  novel  or  only  a  pome  ?"  inquired 
Cap'n  Sproul  at  last. 

"Log,"  replied  the  unruffled  Hiram.  "This  is  the  first 
sea  trip  I  ever  made,  and  whilst  I  don't  know  how  to  reeve 
the  bowsprit  or  clew  up  the  for'rad  hatch,  I  know  that  a 
cruise  without  a  log  is  like  circus-lemonade  without  a  hunk 
of  glass  to  clink  in  the  mix  bowl.  Got  it  up  to  date! 
Listen!" 

He  began  to  read,  displaying  much  pride  in  his  compo 
sition: 

244 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"September  the  fifteen.  Got  word  that  Cap'n  Aaron 
Sproul  had  been  cheated  out  of  wife's  interest  in  timber 
lands  by  his  brother-in-law,  Colonel  Gideon  Ward." 

"What  in  Josephus's  name  has  that  got  to  do  with  this 
trip  ?"  demanded  the  Cap'n,  with  rising  fire,  at  this  blunt 
reference  to  his  humiliation. 

"If  it  wa'n't  for  that  we  wouldn't  be  on  this  trip,"  replied 
Hiram,  with  serene  confidence  in  his  own  judgment. 

"Well,  I  don't  want  that  set  down." 

"You  can  keep  a  log  of  your  own,  and  needn't  set  it 
down."  Hiram's  tone  was  final,  and  he  went  on  reading: 

"  Same  date.  Discovered  Eleazar  Bodge  and  his  divinin'- 
rod.  Bought  option  on  Bodge  and  his  secret  of  Cap'n 
Kidd's  buried  treasure  on  Cod  Lead  Nubble.  September 
the  fifteen  to  seventeen.  Thought  up  plot  to  use  Bodge  to 
get  even  with  Ward.  September  the  twenty-three.  Raised 
crew  in  Smyrna  for  cruise  to  Cod  Lead,  crew  consistin'  of 
men  to  be  depended  on  for  what  was  wanted — " 

"Not  includin'  sailin'  a  vessel,"  sneered  the  Cap'n, 
squinting  forward  with  deep  disfavor  to  where  the  members 
of  the  Smyrna  Ancient  and  Honorable  Firemen's  Associa 
tion  were  contentedly  fishing  over  the  side  of  the  sluggish 
Dobson.  "Here,  leave  hands  off'm  that  tops'l  downhaul!" 
he  yelled,  detecting  Ludelphus  Murray  slashing  at  it  with 
his  jack-knife.  "My  Gawd,  if  he  ain't  cut  it  off!"  he 
groaned. 

Murray,  the  Smyrna  blacksmith,  growled  back  something 
about  not  seeing  what  good  the  rope  did,  anyway. 

Cap'n  Sproul  turned  his  back  on  the  dim  gleam  of  open 
sea  framed  by  distant  headlands. 

245 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"I'm  ashamed  to  look  the  Atlantic  Ocean  in  the  face,  with 
that  bunch  of  barn-yarders  aboard,"  he  complained. 

"Shipped  crew,"  went  on  Hiram,  who  had  not  paused  in 
his  reading.  "Took  along  my  elephant  to  h'ist  dirt. 
Found  Cod  Lead  Nubble.  Began  h'istin'  dirt.  Dug  hole 
twenty  feet  deep.  Me  and  L.  Murray  made  fake  treasure- 
chist  cover  out  of  rotten  planks.  Planted  treasure-chist 
cover.  Let  E.  Bodge  and  G.  Ward  discover  same,  and  made 
believe  we  didn't  know  of  it.  Sold  out  E.  Bodge  and  all 
chances  to  G.  Ward  for  fifteen  thousand  and  left  them  to 
dig,  promisin'  to  send  off  packet  for  them.  Sailed  with 
crew  and  elephant  to  cash  check  before  G.  Ward  can  get 
ashore  to  stop  payment.  Plot  complicated,  but  it  worked, 
and  has  helped  to  pass  away  time." 

"That  ain't  no  kind  of  a  ship's  log,"  objected  the  Cap'n, 
who  had  listened  to  the  reading  with  an  air  too  sullen  for  a 
man  who  had  profited  as  much  by  the  plot.  "There  ain't 
no  mention  of  wind  nor  weather  nor  compass  nor — 

"You  can  put  'em  all  in  if  you  want  to,"  broke  in  Hiram. 
"I  don't  bother  with  things  I  don't  know  anything  about. 
What  I  claim  is,  here's  a  log,  brief  and  to  the  point,  and 
covers  all  details  of  plot.  And  I'm  proud  of  it.  That's  be 
cause  it's  my  own  plot." 

The  Cap'n,  propping  the  wheel  with  his  knee,  pulled  out 
his  wallet,  and  again  took  a  long  survey  of  Colonel  Ward's 
check.  "For  myself,  I  ain't  so  proud  of  it,"  he  said,  de 
spondently.  "It  seems  sort  of  like  stealin'  money." 

"It's  a  good  deal  like  it,"  assented  Hiram,  readily.  "But 
he  stole  from  you  first."  He  took  up  the  old  spy-glass  and 
levelled  it  across  the  rail. 

"That's  all  of  log  to  date,"  he  mumbled  in  soliloquy. 
"Now  if  I  could  see— 

246 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

He  uttered  an  exclamation  and  peered  into  the  tube  with 
anxiety. 

"Here!"  he  cried.  "You  take  it,  Cap'n.  I  ain't  used  to 
it,  and  it  wobbles.  But  it's  either  them  or  gulls  a-flappin'." 

Cap'n  Sprout's  brown  hands  clasped  the  rope-wound  tele 
scope,  and  he  trained  its  lens  with  seaman's  steadiness. 

"It's  them,"  he  said,  with  a  chuckle  of  immense  satisfac 
tion.  "They're  hoppin'  up  and  down  on  the  high  ridge, 
and  slattin'  their  arms  in  the  air.  It  ain't  no  joy-dance,  that 
ain't.  I've  seen  Patagonian  Injuns  a  war-dancin'.  It's 
like  that.  They've  got  that  plank  cover  pried  up.  I  wisht 
I  could  hear  what  they  are  sayin'." 

"I  can  imagine,"  returned  Hiram,  grimly.  "Hold  it 
stiddy,  so's  I  can  look.  Them  old  arms  of  Colonel  Gid  is 
goin'  some,"  he  observed,  after  a  pause.  "It  will  be  a  won 
der  if  he  don't  shake  his  fists  off." 

"There  certainly  is  something  cheerful  about  it — lookin' 
back  and  knowin'  what  they  must  be  sayin',"  observed  the 
Cap'n,  losing  his  temporary  gloom.  "I  reckon  I  come  by 
this  check  honest,  after  all,  considerin'  what  he  done  to  me 
on  them  timber  lands." 

"Well,  it  beats  goin'  to  law,"  grinned  Hiram.  "Here  you 
be,  so  afraid  of  lawyers — and  with  good  reason — that  you'd 
have  let  him  get  away  with  his  plunder  before  you'd  have 
gone  to  law — and  he  knew  it  when  he  done  you.  You've 
taken  back  what's  your  own,  in  your  own  way,  without 
havin'  to  give  law-shysters  the  biggest  part  for  gettin'  it. 
Shake!"  And  chief  plotter  and  the  benefited  clasped  fists 
with  radiant  good-nature.  The  Cap'n  broke  his  grip  in  or 
der  to  twirl  the  wheel,  it  being  necessary  to  take  a  red  buoy 
to  port. 

"We're  goin'  to  slide  out  of  sight  of 'em  in  a  few  minutes," 

247 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

he  said,  looking  back  over  his  shoulder  regretfully.  "  I  wisht 
I  had  a  crew!  I  could  stand  straight  out  through  that  pas 
sage  on  a  long  tack  to  port,  fetch  Half-way  Rock,  and  slide 
into  Portland  on  the  starboard  tack,  and  stay  in  sight  of 'em 
pretty  nigh  all  day.  It  would  keep  'em  busy  thinkin'  if  we 
stayed  in  sight." 

"Stand  out,"  advised  Hiram,  eagerly.  "We  ain't  in  any 
hurry.  Let's  rub  it  into  'em.  Stand  out." 

"  With  them  pea-bean  pullers  to  work  ship  ?"  He  pointed 
to  the  devoted  band  of  Smyrna  fire-fighters,  who  were  joy 
ously  gathering  in  with  varying  luck  a  supply  of  tomcod  and 
haddock  to  furnish  the  larder  inshore.  "When  I  go  huntin' 
for  trouble  it  won't  be  with  a  gang  of  hoss-marines  like 
that." 

Hiram,  as  foreman  of  the  Ancients,  felt  piqued  at  this 
slighting  reference  to  his  men,  and  showed  it. 

"They  can  pull  ropes  when  you  tell  'em  to,"  he  said. 
"Leastways,  when  it  comes  to  brains,  I  reckon  they'll  stack 
up  better'n  them  Portygees  you  used  to  have." 

"I  never  pretended  that  them  Portygees  had  any  brains 
at  all,"  said  the  Cap'n,  grimly.  "They  come  aboard  with 
out  brains,  and  I  took  a  belayin'-pin  and  batted  brains  into 
'em.  I  can't  do  that  to  these  critters  here.  It  would  be 
just  like  'em  to  misunderstand  the  whole  thing  and  go  home 
and  get  me  mixed  into  a  lot  of  law  for  assaultin'  'em." 

"Oh,  if  you're  afraid  to  go  outside,  say  so!"  sneered 
Hiram.  "But  you've  talked  so  much  of  deep  water,  and 
weatherin'  Cape  Horn,  and — ' 

"Afraid?  Me  afraid?"  roared  the  Cap'n,  spatting  his 
broad  hand  on  his  breast.  "Me,  that  kicked  my  dunnage- 
bag  down  the  fo'c's'le-hatch  at  fifteen  years  old  ?  I'll  show 
you  whether  I'm  afraid  or  not." 

248 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

He  knotted  a  hitch  around  the  spokes  of  the  wheel  and 
scuffed  hastily  forward. 

"Here!"  he  bawled,  cuffing  the  taut  sheets  to  point  his 
meaning,  "when  I  get  back  to  the  wheel  and  holler  'Ease 
away!'  you  fellers  get  hold  of  these  ropes,  untie  'em,  and  let 
out  slow  till  I  tell  you  stop.  And  then  tie  'em  just  as  you 
find  'em." 

They  did  so  clumsily,  Cap'n  Sproul  swearing  under  his 
breath,  and  at  last  the  Dobson  got  away  on  the  port  tack. 

"Just  think  of  me — master  of  a  four-sticker  at  twenty- 
seven — havin'  to  stand  here  in  the  face  and  eyes  of  the  old 
Atlantic  Ocean  and  yell  about  untyin'  ropes  and  tyin'  'em 
up  like  I  was  givin'  off  orders  in  a  cow-barn!" 

"Well,  they  done  it  all  right — and  they  done  it  pretty 
slick,  so  far  as  I  could  see,"  interjected  Hiram. 

"Done  it!"  sneered  the  Cap'n.  "Eased  sheets  here  in 
this  puddle,  in  a  breeze  about  stiff  enough  to  winnow  oats! 
Supposin'  it  was  a  blow,  with  a  gallopin'  sea!  Me  runnin' 
around  this  deck  taggin'  gool  on  halyards,  lifts,  sheets,  and 
downhauls,  and  them  hoss-marines  follerin'  me  up.  Davy 
Jones  would  die  laughin',  unless  some  one  pounded  him  on 
the  back  to  help  him  get  his  breath." 

Now  that  his  mariner's  nose  was  turned  toward  the  sea 
once  again  after  his  two  years  of  landsman's  hebetude,  all 
his  seaman's  instinct,  all  his  seaman's  caution,  revived.  His 
nose  snuffed  the  air,  his  eyes  studied  the  whirls  of  the  float 
ing  clouds.  There  was  nothing  especially  ominous  in  sight. 

The  autumn  sun  was  warm.  The  wind  was  sprightly 
but  not  heavy.  And  yet  his  mariner's  sense  sniffed  some 
thing  untoward. 

The  Dobson,  little  topmast  hooker,  age-worn  and  long  be 
fore  relegated  to  the  use  of  Sunday  fishing-parties  "down  the 

249 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

bay,"  had  for  barometer  only  a  broken  affair  that  had  been 
issued  to  advertise  the  virtues  of  a  certain  baking-powder. 
It  was  roiled  permanently  to  the  degree  marked  "Tornado." 

"Yes,"  remarked  Hiram,  nestling  down  once  more  under 
the  bulwark,  after  viewing  the  display  of  amateur  activity, 
"of  course,  if  you're  afraid  to  tackle  a  little  deep  water  once 
more,  just  for  the  sake  of  an  outin',  then  I've  no  more  to  say. 
I've  heard  of  railro'd  engineers  and  sea-capt'ns  losin'  their 
nerve.  I  didn't  know  but  it  had  happened  to  you." 

"Well,  it  ain't,"  snapped  the  Cap'n,  indignantly.  And 
yet  his  sailor  instinct  scented  menace.  He  couldn't  explain 
it  to  that  cynical  old  circus-man,  intent  on  a  day's  outing. 
Had  it  not  been  for  Hiram's  presence  and  his  taunt,  Cap'n 
Sproul  would  have  promptly  turned  tail  to  the  Atlantic  and 
taken  his  safe  and  certain  way  along  the  reaches  and  under 
shelter  of  the  islands.  But  reflecting  that  Hiram  Look,  back 
in  Smyrna,  might  circulate  good-natured  derogation  of  his 
mariner's  courage,  Cap'n  Sproul  set  the  Dobson's  blunt  nose 
to  the  heave  of  the  sea,  and  would  not  have  quailed  before  a 
tidal  wave. 

The  Smyrna  contingent  hailed  this  adventuring  into 
greater  depths  as  a  guarantee  of  bigger  fish  for  the  salt- 
barrel  at  home,  and  proceeded  to  cut  bait  with  vigor  and 
pleased  anticipation. 

Only  the  Cap'n  was  saturnine,  and  even  lost  his  interest 
in  the  animated  figures  on  distant  Cod  Lead  Nubble, 
though  Hiram  could  not  drag  his  eyes  from  them,  seeing  in 
their  frantic  gestures  the  denouement  of  his  plot. 

Shortly  after  noon  they  were  well  out  to  sea,  still  on  the 
port  tack,  the  swells  swinging  underneath  in  a  way  that 
soothed  the  men  of  Smyrna  rather  than  worried  them.  So 
steady  was  the  lift  and  sweep  of  the  long  roll  that  they  gave 

250 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

over  fishing  and  snored  wholesomely  in  the  sun  on  deck. 
Hiram  dozed  over  his  cigar,  having  paid  zestful  attention  to 
the  dinner  that  Jackson  Denslow  had  spread  in  the  galley. 

Only  Cap'n  Sproul,  at  the  wheel,  was  alert  and  awake. 
With  some  misgivings  he  noted  that  the  trawl  fishers  were 
skimming  toward  port  in  their  Hampton  boats.  A  number 
of  smackmen  followed  these.  Later  he  saw  several  deeply 
laden  Scotiamen  lumbering  past  on  the  starboard  tack,  all 
apparently  intent  on  making  harbor. 

"Them  fellers  has  smelt  something  outside  that  don't 
smell  good,"  grunted  the  Cap'n.  But  he  still  stood  on  his 
way.  "I  reckon  I've  got  softenin'  of  the  brain,"  he  mut 
tered;  "livin'  inshore  has  given  it  to  me.  'Cause  if  I  was 
in  my  right  senses  I'd  be  runnin'  a  race  with  them  fellers  to 
see  which  would  get  inside  Bug  Light  and  to  a  safe  anchor 
age  first.  And  yet  I'm  standin'  on  with  this  old  bailin'-dish 
because  I'm  afraid  of  what  a  landlubber  will  say  to  folks  in 
Smyrna  about  my  bein'  a  coward,  and  with  no  way  of  my 
provin'  that  I  ain't.  All  that  them  hoss-marines  has  got  a 
nose  for  is  a  b'iled  dinner  when  it's  ready.  They  couldn't 
smell  nasty  weather  even  if  'twas  daubed  onto  their  mus 
taches." 

At  the  end  of  another  hour,  during  which  the  crew  of  the 
Dobson  had  become  thoroughly  awake  and  aware  of  the  fact 
that  the  coast-line  was  only  a  blue  thread  on  the  northern 
horizon,  Cap'n  Sproul  had  completely  satisfied  his  suspicions 
as  to  a  certain  bunch  of  slaty  cloud. 

There  was  a  blow  in  it — a  coming  shift  of  wind  preceded 
by  flaws  that  made  the  Cap'n  knot  his  eyebrows  dubiously. 

"There!"  he  blurted,  turning  his  gaze  on  Hiram,  perched 
on  the  grating.  "If  you  reckon  you've  got  enough  of  a  sail 
out  of  this,  we'll  put  about  for  harbor.  But  I  want  it  dis- 

25 * 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

tinctly  understood  that  I  ain't  sayin'  the  word  '  enough.'  I'd 
keep  on  sailin'  to  the  West  Injies  if  we  had  grub  a-plenty  to 
last  us." 

"There  ain't  grub  enough,"  suggested  Jackson  Denslow, 
who  came  up  from  the  waist  with  calm  disregard  of  ship 
board  etiquette.  "The  boys  have  all  caught  plenty  offish, 
and  we  want  to  get  in  before  dark.  So  gee  her  round, 
Cap'n." 

"Don't  you  give  off  no  orders  to  me!"  roared  the  Cap'n 
"Go  back  for'ard  where  you  belong." 

"That's  the  sense  of  the  boys,  just  the  same,"  retorted 
Denslow,  retreating  a  couple  of  steps.  '  'Delphus  Murray 
is  seasick,  and  two  or  three  of  the  boys  are  gettin'  so.  We 
ain't  enlisted  for  no  seafarin'  trip." 

"Don't  you  realize  that  we're  on  the  high  seas  now  and 
that  you're  talkin'  mutiny,  and  that  mutiny's  a  state-prison 
crime?"  clamored  the  irate  skipper.  "I'd  have  killed  a 
Portygee  for  sayin'  a  quarter  as  much.  I'd  have  killed  him 
for  settin'  foot  abaft  the  gratin' — killed  him  before  he  opened 
his  mouth." 

"We  ain't  Portygees,"  rejoined  Denslow,  stubbornly. 
"We  ain't  no  sailors." 

"Nor  I  ain't  liar  enough  to  call  you  sailors,"  the  Cap'n 
cried,  in  scornful  fury. 

"If  ye  want  to  come  right  down  to  straight  business,"  said 
the  refractory  Denslow,  "there  ain't  any  man  got  authority 
over  us  except  Mr.  Look  there,  as  foreman  of  the  Smyrna 
Ancients  and  Honer'bles." 

Mr.  Denslow,  mistaking  the  Cap'n's  speechlessness  for 
conviction,  proceeded: 

"We  was  hired  to  take  a  sail  for  our  health,  dig  dirt,  and 
keep  our  mouths  shut.  Same  has  been  done  and  is  bein' 

252 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

done — except  in  so  far  as  we  open  'em  to  remark  that  we 
want  to  get  back  onto  dry  ground." 

Hiram  noted  that  the  Cap'n's  trembling  hands  were  tak 
ing  a  half-hitch  with  a  rope's  end  about  a  tiller-spoke.  He 
understood  this  as  meaning  that  Cap'n  Sproul  desired  to 
have  his  hands  free  for  a  moment.  He  hastened  to  in 
terpose. 

"We're  goin'  to  start  right  back,  Denslow.  You  can  tell 
the  boys  for  me." 

"All  right,  Chief!"  said  the  faithful  member  of  the  An 
cients,  and  departed. 

"We  be  goin'  back,  hey?"  The  Cap'n  had  his  voice 
again,  and  turned  on  Hiram  a  face  mottled  with  fury. 
"This  firemen's  muster  is  runnin'  this  craft,  is  it?  Say, 
look-a-here,  Hiram,  there  are  certain  things  'board  ship 
where  it's  hands  off!  There  is  a  certain  place  where  friend 
ship  ceases.  You  can  run  your  Smyrna  fire  department  on 
shore,  but  aboard  a  vessel  where  I'm  master  mariner,  by  the 
wall-eyed  jeehookibus,  there's  no  man  but  me  bosses!  And 
so  long  as  a  sail  is  up  and  her  keel  is  movin'  I  say  the  say!" 

In  order  to  shake  both  fists  under  Hiram's  nose,  he  had 
surrendered  the  wheel  to  the  rope-end.  The  Dobson  paid 
off  rapidly,  driven  by  a  sudden  squall  that  sent  her  lee  rail 
level  with  the  foaming  water.  Those  forward  howled  in 
concert.  Even  the  showman's  face  grew  pale  as  he  squatted 
in  the  gangway,  clutching  the  house  for  support. 

"Cut  away  them  ropes!  She's  goin'  to  tip  over!"  squalled 
Murray,  the  big  blacksmith.  Between  the  two  options — to 
take  the  wheel  and  bring  the  clumsy  hooker  into  the  wind, 
or  to  rush  forward  and  flail  his  bunglers  away  from  the 
rigging — Cap'n  Sproul  shuttled  insanely,  rushing  to  and  fro 
and  bellowing  furious  language.  The  language  had  no  ef- 

253 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

feet.  With  axes  and  knives  the  willing  crew  hacked  away 
every  rope  forward  that  seemed  to  be  anything  supporting  a 
sail,  and  down  came  the  foresail  and  two  jibs.  The  Cap'n 
knocked  down  the  two  men  who  tried  to  cut  the  mainsail 
halyards.  The  next  moment  the  Dobson  jibed  under  the 
impulse  of  the  mainsail,  and  the  swinging  boom  snapped 
Hiram's  plug  hat  afar  into  the  sea,  and  left  the  showman  flat 
on  his  back,  dizzily  rubbing  a  bump  on  his  bald  head. 

For  an  instant  Cap'n  Sproul  was  moved  by  a  wild  impulse 
to  let  her  slat  her  way  to  complete  destruction,  but  the 
sailorman's  instinct  triumphed,  and  he  worked  her  round, 
chewing  a  strand  of  his  beard  with  venom. 

"I  don't  pretend  to  know  as  much  about  ship  managin'  as 
you  do,"  Hiram  ventured  to  say  at  last,  "but  if  that  wa'n't 
a  careless  performance,  lettin'  her  wale  round  that  way, 
then  I'm  no  judge." 

He  got  no  comment  from  the  Cap'n. 

"I  don't  suppose  it's  shipshape  to  cut  ropes  instead  of  un 
tie  'em,"  pursued  Hiram,  struggling  with  lame  apology  in 
behalf  of  the  others,  "but  I  could  see  for  myself  that  if  them 
sails  stayed  up  we  were  goin'  to  tip  over.  It's  better  to  sail 
a  little  slower  and  keep  right  side  up." 

He  knotted  a  big  handkerchief  around  his  head  and  took 
his  place  on  the  grating  once  more. 

"What  can  we  do  now?"  bawled  Murray. 

"You're  the  one  that's  issuin'  orders  'board  here  now," 
growled  the  Cap'n,  bending  baleful  gaze  on  the  foreman  of 
the  Ancients.  "Go  for'ard  and  tell  'em  to  chop  down  both 
masts,  and  then  bore  some  holes  in  the  bottom  to  let  out  the 
bilge-water.  Then  they  can  set  her  on  fire.  There  might 
be  something  them  blasted  Ancients  could  do  to  a  vessel  on 
fire." 

254 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"I  don't  believe  in  bein'  sarcastic  when  people  are  tryin' 
to  do  the  best  they  can,"  objected  Hiram.  He  noted  that 
the  Dobson  was  once  again  setting  straight  out  to  sea.  She 
was  butting  her  snub  nose  furiously  into  swelling  combers. 
The  slaty  bench  of  clouds  had  lifted  into  the  zenith.  Scud 
trailed  just  over  the  swaying  masts.  The  shore  line  was  lost 
in  haze.  "Don't  be  stuffy  any  longer,  Cap'n,"  he  pleaded. 
"We've  gone  fur  enough.  I  give  up.  You  are  deep-water, 
all  right!" 

Cap'n  Sproul  made  no  reply.  Suddenly  catching  a  mo 
ment  that  seemed  favorable,  he  lashed  the  wheel,  and  with 
mighty  puffing  and  grunting  "inched"  in  the  main-sheet. 
"She  ought  to  have  a  double  reef,"  he  muttered.  "But 
them  petrified  sons  of  secos  couldn't  take  in  a  week's 
wash." 

"You  can  see  for  yourself  that  the  boys  are  seasick,"  re 
sumed  Hiram,  when  the  Cap'n  took  the  wheel  again.  "If 
you  don't  turn  'round — 

"Mr.  Look,"  grated  the  skipper,  "I've  got  just  a  word  or 
two  to  say  right  now."  His  sturdy  legs  were  straddled,  his 
brown  hands  clutched  the  spokes  of  the  weather-worn  wheel. 
"I'm  runnin'  this  packet  from  now  on,  and  it's  vrithout  con 
versation.  Understand  ?  Don't  you  open  your  yap.  And 
you  go  for'ard  and  tell  them  steer  calves  that  I'll  kill  the 
first  one  that  steps  foot  aft  the  mainmast." 

There  was  that  in  the  tones  and  in  the  skipper's  mien  of 
dignity  as  he  stood  there,  fronting  and  defying  once  again  his 
ancient  foe,  the  ocean,  which  took  out  of  Hiram  all  his  cour 
age  to  retort.  And  after  a  time  he  went  forward,  dragging 
himself  cautiously,  to  join  the  little  group  of  misery  huddled 
in  the  folds  of  the  fallen  canvas. 

"A  cargo  of  fools  to  save!"  growled  Cap'n  Sproul,  his  eye- 

255 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

brows  knotted  in  anxiety.  "Myself  among 'em!  And  they 
don't  know  what  the  matter  is  with  'em.  We've  struck  the 
line  gale — that's  what  we've  done !  Struck  it  with  a  choppin'- 
tray  for  a  bo't  and  a  mess  of  rooty-baggy  turnips  for  a  crew! 
And  there's  only  one  hole  to  crawl  out  of." 


XXII 

HE  wind  had  shifted  when  it  settled  into  the 
blow — a  fact  that  the  Cap'n's  shipmates  did 
not  realize,  and  which  he  was  too  disgusted  by 
their  general  inefficiency  to  explain  to  them. 
In  his  crippled  condition,  in  the  gathering 
night,  he  figured  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to 
make  Portland  harbor,  the  only  accessible  refuge.  The  one 
chance  was  to  ride  it  out,  and  this  he  set  himself  to  do, 
grimly  silent,  contemptuously  reticent.  He  held  her  nose 
up  to  the  open  sea,  allowing  her  only  steerageway,  the  gale 
slithering  off*  her  flattened  sail. 

The  men  who  gazed  on  him  from  the  waist  saw  in  his 
resolution  only  stubborn  determination  to  punish  them. 

"He's  sartinly  the  obstinatest  man  that  ever  lowered  his 
head  at  ye,"  said  Zeburee  Nute,  breaking  in  on  the  apprehen 
sive  mumble  of  his  fellows.  "  He  won't  stop  at  northin'  when 
he's  mad.  Look  what  he's  done  in  Smyrna.  But  I  call  this 
rubbin'  it  in  a  darn  sight  more'n  he's  got  any  right  to  do." 
His  lament  ended  in  a  seasick  hiccough. 
"I  don't  understand  sailormen  very  well,"  observed  Jack 
son  Denslow;  "and  it  may  be  that  a  lot  of  things  they  do  are 
all  right,  viewed  from  sailorman  standpoint.  But  if  Cap 
Sproul  wa'n't  plumb  crazy  and  off'm  his  nut  them  times  we 
offered  him  honors  in  our  town,  and  if  he  ain't  jest  as  crazy 
now,  I  don't  know  lunatics  when  I  see  'em." 

257 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"Headin'  straight  out  to  sea  when  dry  ground's  off  that 
way,"  said  Murray,  finning  feeble  hand  to  starboard,  "ain't 
what  Dan'l  Webster  would  do,  with  his  intellect,  if  he  was 
here." 

Hiram  Look  sat  among  them  without  speaking,  his  eyes 
on  his  friend  outlined  against  the  gloom  at  the  wheel.  One 
after  the  other  the  miserable  members  of  the  Ancients  and 
Honorables  appealed  to  him  for  aid  and  counsel. 

"Boys,"  he  said  at  last,  "I've  been  figgerin'  that  he's  just 
madder'n  blazes  at  what  you  done  to  the  sails,  and  that  as 
soon's  he  works  his  mad  off  he'll  turn  tail.  Judgin'  from 
what  he  said  to  me,  it  ain't  safe  to  tackle  him  right  away. 
It  will  only  keep  him  mad.  Hold  tight  for  a  little  while  and 
let's  see  what  he'll  do  when  he  cools.  And  if  he  don't  cool 
then,  I've  got  quite  a  habit  of  gettin'  mad  myself." 

And,  hanging  their  hopes  on  this  argument  and  promise, 
they  crouched  there  in  their  misery,  their  eyes  on  the  dim 
figure  at  the  wheel,  their  ears  open  to  the  screech  of  the  gale, 
their  souls  as  sick  within  them  as  were  their  stomachs. 

In  that  sea  and  that  wind  the  progress  of  the  Dobson  was, 
as  the  Cap'n  mentally  put  it,  a  "sashay."  There  was  way 
enough  on  her  to  hold  her  into  the  wind,  but  the  waves  and 
the  tides  lugged  her  slowly  sideways  and  backward.  And 
yet,  with  their  present  sea-room  Cap'n  Sproul  hoped  that  he 
might  claw  off  enough  to  save  her. 

Upon  his  absorption  in  these  hopes  blundered  Hiram 
through  the  night,  crawling  aft  on  his  hands  and  knees  after 
final  and  despairing  appeal  from  his  men. 

"I  say,  Cap'n,"  he  gasped,  "you  and  I  have  been  too  good 
friends  to  have  this  go  any  further.  I've  took  my  medi 
cine.  So  have  the  boys.  Now  let's  shake  hands  and  go 
ashore." 

258 


THE    SKIPPER    AND    THE    SKIPPED 

No  reply  from  the  desperate  mariner  at  the  wheel  battling 
for  life. 

"You  heard  me!"  cried  Hiram,  fear  and  anger  rasping  in 

his  tones.     "I  say,  I  want  to  go  ashore,  and,  damme,  I'm 

•  >  i» 
goin  ! 

"Take  your  shoes  in  your  hand  and  wade,"  gritted  the 
Cap'n.  "I  ain't  stoppin'  you."  He  still  scorned  to  explain 
to  the  meddlesome  landsman. 

"I  can  carry  a  grudge  myself,"  blustered  Hiram.  "But 
I  finally  stop  to  think  of  others  that's  dependent  on  me. 
We've  got  wives  ashore,  you  and  me  have,  and  these  men 
has  got  families  dependent  on  'em.  I  tell  ye  to  turn  round 
and  go  ashore!" 

"Turn  round,  you  devilish  idjit  ?"  bellowed  the  Cap'n. 
"What  do  you  think  this  is — one  of  your  circus  wagons  with 
a  span  of  hosses  hitched  in  front  of  it  ?  I  told  you  once  be 
fore  that  I  didn't  want  to  be  bothered  with  conversation.  I 
tell  you  so  ag'in.  I've  got  things  on  my  mind  that  you  don't 
know  anything  about,  and  that  you  ain't  got  intellect  enough 
to  understand.  Now,  you  shut  up  or  I'll  kick  you  over 
board  for  a  mutineer." 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour  of  silence — bitter,  suffering 
silence— Hiram  broke  out  with  a  husky  shout. 

"There  ye  go,  Cap'n,"  he  cried.  "Behind  you!  There's 
our  chance!" 

A  wavering  red  flare  lighted  the  sky,  spreading  upward  on 
the  mists. 

The  men  forward  raised  a  quavering  cheer. 

"Ain't  you  goin'  to  sail  for  it?"  asked  Hiram,  eagerly. 
"There's  our  chance  to  get  ashore."  He  had  crept  close  to 
the  skipper. 

"I  s'pose  you  feel  like  puttin'  on  that  piazzy  hat  of  yourn 
18  259 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

and  grabbin'  your  speakin'-trumpet,  leather  buckets,  and 
bed-wrench,  and  startin'  for  it,"  sneered  Cap'n  Sproul  in  a 
lull  of  the  wind.  "In  the  old  times  they  had  wimmen  called 
sirens  to  coax  men  ashore.  But  that  thing  there  seems  to 
be  better  bait  of  the  Smyrna  fire  department  " 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  ain't  agoin'  to  land 
when  there's  dry  ground  right  over  there,  with  people  sig- 
nallin'  and  waitin'  to  help  you  ?"  demanded  the  showman, 
his  temper  whetted  by  his  fright. 

The  Cap'n  esteemed  the  question  too  senseless  to  admit 
any  reply  except  a  scornful  oath.  He  at  the  wheel,  studying 
drift  and  wind,  had  pretty  clear  conception  of  their  where 
abouts.  The  scraggly  ridge  dimly  outlined  by  the  fire  on 
shore  could  hardly  be  other  than  Cod  Lead,  where  Colonel 
Gideon  Ward  and  Eleazar  Bodge  were  languishing.  It  was 
probable  that  those  marooned  gentlemen  had  lighted  a  fire 
in  their  desperation  in  order  to  signal  for  assistance.  The 
Cap'n  reflected  that  it  was  about  as  much  wit  as  landsmen 
would  possess. 

To  Hiram's  panicky  mind  this  situation  seemed  to  call 
for  one  line  of  action.  They  were  skippered  by  a  madman 
or  a  brute,  he  could  not  figure  which.  At  any  rate,  it  seemed 
time  to  interfere. 

He  crawled  back  again  to  the  huddled  group  of  the  An 
cients  and  enlisted  Ludelphus  Murray,  as  biggest  and  least 
incapacitated  by  seasickness. 

They  staggered  back  in  the  gloom  and,  without  preface  or 
argument,  fell  upon  the  Cap'n,  dragged  him,  fighting  man 
fully  and  profanely,  to  the  companionway  of  the  little  house, 
thrust  him  down,  after  an  especially  vigorous  engagement  of 
some  minutes,  slammed  and  bolted  the  doors  and  shot  the 
hatch.  They  heard  him  beating  about  within  and  raging 

260 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

horribly,  but  Murray  doubled  himself  over,  his  knees  against 
the  doors,  his  body  prone  on  the  hatch. 

His  position  was  fortunate  for  him,  for  again  the  Dobson 
jibed,  the  boom  of  the  mainsail  slishing  overhead.  Hiram 
was  crawling  on  hands  and  knees  toward  the  wheel,  and  es 
caped,  also.  When  the  little  schooner  took  the  bit  in  her 
teeth  she  promptly  eliminated  the  question  of  seamanship. 
It  was  as  though  she  realized  that  the  master-hand  was 
paralyzed.  She  shook  the  rotten  sail  out  of  the  bolt-ropes 
with  a  bang,  righted  and  went  sluggishly  rolling  toward  the 
flare  on  shore. 

"I  don't  know  much  about  vessel  managin',"  gasped 
Hiram,  "but  seein'  that  gettin'  ashore  was  what  I  was  drivin' 
at,  the  thing  seems  to  be  progressin'  all  favorable." 

Up  to  this  time  one  passenger  on  the  schooner  appeared 
to  be  taking  calm  or  tempest  with  the  same  equanimity. 
This  passenger  was  Imogene,  couched  at  the  break  of  the 
little  poop.  But  the  cracking  report  of  the  bursting  sail,  and 
now  the  dreadful  clamor  of  the  imprisoned  Cap'n  Sproul, 
stirred  her  fears.  She  raised  her  trunk  and  trumpeted  with 
bellowings  that  shamed  the  blast. 

"Let  him  up  now,  'Delphus!"  shouted  Hiram,  after 
twirling  the  wheel  vainly  and  finding  that  the  Dobson  heeded 
it  not.  "If  there  ain't  no  sails  up  he  can't  take  us  out  to  sea. 
Let  him  up  before  he  gives  Imogene  hysterics." 

And  when  Murray  released  his  clutch  on  the  hatch  it 
snapped  back,  and  out  over  the  closed  doors  of  the  com- 
panionway  shot  the  Cap'n,  a  whiskered  jack-in-the-box, 
gifted  with  vociferous  speech. 

Like  the  cautious  seaman,  his  first  glance  was  aloft.  Then 
he  spun  the  useless  wheel. 

"You  whelps  of  perdition!"  he  shrieked.  "Lifts  cut, 

261 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

mains'l  blowed  out,  and  a  lee  shore  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away! 
I've  knowed  fools,  lunatics,  and  idjits,  and  I  don't  want  to 
insult  'em  by  callin'  you  them  names.  You — ' 

"Well,  if  we  are  any  crazier  for  wantin'  to  go  ashore  where 
we  belong  than  you  was  for  settin'  out  to  cross  the  Atlantic 
Ocean  in  a  night  like  this,  I'd  like  to  have  it  stated  why," 
declared  Hiram. 

"  Don't  you  know  enough  to  understand  that  I  was  tryin' 
to  save  your  lives  by  ratchin'  her  off'm  this  coast  ?"  bellowed 
Cap'n  Sproul. 

"Just  thought  you  was  crazy,  and  think  so  now,"  replied 
the  showman,  now  fully  as  furious  as  the  Cap'n — each  in  his 
own  mind  accusing  the  other  of  being  responsible  for  their 
present  plight.  "The  place  for  us  is  on  shore,  and  we're 
goin'  there!" 

"What  do  you  suppose  is  goin'  to  become  of  us  when  she 
strikes  ?"  bawled  the  Cap'n,  clutching  the  backstay  and  lean 
ing  into  the  night. 

"She'll  strike  shore,  won't  she?  Well,  that's  what  I 
want  to  strike.  It  '11  sound  good  and  feel  good." 

For  such  gibbering  lunacy  as  this  the  master  mariner  had 
no  fit  reply.  His  jaws  worked  wordlessly.  He  kept  his 
clutch  on  the  backstay  with  the  dizzy  notion  that  this  saved 
him  from  clutching  some  one's  throat. 

"You'd  better  begin  to  pray,  you  fellers,"  he  cried  at  last, 
with  a  quaver  in  his  tones.  "We're  goin'  smash-ti-belter 
onto  them  rocks,  and  Davy  Jones  is  settin'  on  extra  plates 
for  eight  at  breakfast  to-morrer  mornin'.  Do  your  prayin' 
now." 

"The  only  Scripture  that  occurs  to  me  just  now,"  said 
Hiram, in  a  hush  of  the  gale,  "is  that  'God  tempers  the  wind 
to  the  shorn  lamb.'" 

262 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

That  was  veritably  a  Delphic  utterance  at  that  moment, 
had  Hiram  only  known  it. 

Some  one  has  suggested  that  there  is  a  providence  that 
watches  over  children  and  fools.  It  is  certain  that  chance 
does  play  strange  antics.  Men  have  fallen  from  balloons 
and  lived.  Other  men  have  slipped  on  a  banana  skin  and 
died.  Men  have  fought  to  save  themselves  from  destruc 
tion,  and  have  been  destroyed.  Other  men  have  resigned 
themselves  and  have  won  out  triumphantly. 

The  doomed  Dobson  was  swashing  toward  the  roaring 
shore  broadside  on.  The  first  ledge  would  roll  her  bottom 
up,  beating  in  her  punky  breast  at  the  same  time.  This  was 
the  programme  the  doleful  skipper  had  pictured  in  his 
mind.  There  was  no  way  of  winning  a  chance  through 
the  rocks,  such  as  there  might  have  been  with  steerage- 
way,  a  tenuous  chance,  and  yet  a  chance.  But  the  Cap'n 
decided  with  apathy  and  resignation  to  fate  that  one  man 
could  not  raise  a  sail  out  of  that  wreck  forward  and  at  the 
same  time  heave  her  up  to  a  course  for  the  sake  of  that 
chance. 

As  to  Imogene  he  had  not  reckoned. 

Perhaps  that  faithful  pachyderm  decided  to  die  with  her 
master  embraced  in  her  trunk.  Perhaps  she  decided  that 
the  quarter-deck  was  farther  above  water  than  the  waist. 

At  any  rate,  curving  back  her  trunk  and  "roomping"  out 
the  perturbation  of  her  spirit,  she  reared  on  her  hind-legs, 
boosted  herself  upon  the  roof  of  the  house,  and  clawed  aft. 
This  auto-shifting  of  cargo  lifted  the  bow  of  the  little 
schooner.  Her  jibs,  swashing  soggily  about  her  bow,  were 
hoisted  out  of  the  water,  and  a  gust  bellied  them.  On  the 
pivot  of  her  buried  stern  the  Dobson  swung  like  a  top  just 
as  twin  ledges  threatened  her  broadside,  and  she  danced 

263 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

gayly  between  them,  the  wind  tugging  her  along  by  her 
far-flung  jibs. 

In  matter  of  wrecks,  it  is  the  outer  rocks  that  smash;  it 
is  the  teeth  of  these  ledges  that  tear  timbers  and  macerate 
men.  The  straggling  remains  are  found  later  in  the  sandy 
cove. 

But  with  Imogene  as  unwitting  master  mariner  in  the 
crisis,  the  schooner  dodged  the  danger  of  the  ledges  by  the 
skin  of  her  barnacled  bottom,  spun  frothing  up  the  cove  in 
the  yeast  of  the  waves,  bumped  half  a  dozen  times  as  though 
searching  suitable  spot  for  self-immolation,  and  at  last,  find 
ing  a  bed  of  white  sand,  flattened  herself  upon  it  with  a 
racket  of  demolition — the  squall  of  drawing  spikes  her  death- 
wail,  the  boom  of  water  under  her  bursting  deck  her  grunt  of 
dissolution. 

The  compelling  impulse  that  drives  men  to  close  personal 
contact  in  times  of  danger  had  assembled  all  the  crew  of  the 
schooner  upon  the  poop,  the  distracted  Imogene  in  the  cen 
tre.  She  wore  the  trappings  of  servitude — the  rude  harness 
in  which  she  had  labored  to  draw  up  the  buckets  of  dirt  on 
Cod  Lead,  the  straps  to  which  the  tackle  had  been  fastened 
to  hoist  her  on  board  the  Dobson. 

When  the  deck  went  out  from  under  them,  the  elephant 
was  the  biggest  thing  left  in  reach. 

And  as  she  went  sturdily  swimming  off,  trunk  elevated 
above  the  surges,  the  desperate  crew  of  the  Dobson  grabbed 
at  straps  and  dangling  traces  and  went,  too,  towing  behind 
her.  Imogene  could  reach  the  air  with  the  end  of  her  up 
lifted  trunk.  The  men  submerged  at  her  side  gasped  and 
strangled,  but  clung  with  the  death-grip  of  drowning  men; 
and  when  at  last  she  found  bottom  and  dragged  herself  up 
the  beach  with  the  waves  beating  at  her,  she  carried  them 

264 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

all,  salvaged  from  the  sea  in  a  fashion  so  marvellous  that 
Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul,  first  on  his  legs,  had  no  voice  left  with 
which  to  express  his  sentiments. 

He  staggered  around  to  the  front  of  the  panting  animal 
and  solemnly  seized  her  trunk  and  waggled  it  in  earnest 
hand-shake. 

"You're  a  dumb  animile,"  he  muttered,  "and  you  prob'ly 
can't  have  any  idea  of  what  I'm  meanin'  or  sayin'.  But  I 
want  to  say  to  you,  man  to  elephant,  that  I  wouldn't  swap 
your  hind-tail — which  don't  seem  to  be  of  any  use,  anyway — 
for  the  whole  Smyrna  fire  company.  I'm  sayin'  to  you, 
frank  and  outspoken,  that  I  was  mad  when  you  first  come 
aboard.  I  ask  your  pardon.  Of  course,  you  don't  under 
stand  that.  But  my  mind  is  freer.  Your  name  ought  to  be 
changed  to  Proverdunce,  and  the  United  States  Government 
ought  to  give  you  a  medal  bigger'n  a  pie-plate." 

He  turned  and  bent  a  disgusted  stare  on  the  gasping  men 
dimly  outlined  in  the  gloom. 

"I'd  throw  you  back  again,"  he  snapped,  "if  it  wa'n't 
for  givin'  the  Atlantic  Ocean  the  colic." 

One  by  one  they  staggered  up  from  the  beach  grass,  re 
volved  dizzily,  and  with  the  truly  homing  instinct  started 
away  in  the  direction  of  the  fire-flare  on  the  higher  land  of 
the  island. 

Of  that  muddled  company,  he  was  the  only  one  who  had 
the  least  knowledge  of  their  whereabouts  or  guessed  that 
those  responsible  for  the  signal-fire  were  Colonel  Gideon 
Ward  and  Eleazar  Bodge.  He  followed  behind,  steeling  his 
soul  to  meet  those  victims  of  the  complicated  plot.  An  as 
tonished  bleat  from  Hiram  Look,  who  led  the  column,  an 
nounced  them.  Colonel  Ward  was  doubled  before  the  fire, 
his  long  arms  embracing  his  thin  knees.  Eleazar  Bodge  had 

265 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

just  brought  a  fresh  armful  of  driftwood  to  heap  on  the 
blaze. 

"We  thought  it  would  bring  help  to  us,"  cried  the  Colonel, 
who  could  not  see  clearly  through  the  smoke.  "We've  been 
left  here  by  a  set  of  thieves  and  murderers."  He  unfolded 
himself  and  stood  up.  "You  get  me  in  reach  of  a  telegraph- 
office  before  nine  o'clock  to-morrow  and  I'll  make  it  worth 
your  while." 

"By  the  long-horned  heifers  of  Hebron!"  bawled  Hiram. 
"We've  come  back  to  just  the  place  we  started  from!  If  you 
built  that  fire  to  tole  us  ashore  here,  I'll  have  you  put  into 
State  Prison." 

"Here  they  are,  Bodge!"  shrieked  the  Colonel,  his  teeth 
chattering,  squirrel-like,  in  his  passion.  "Talk  about 
State  Prison  to  me!  I'll  have  the  whole  of  you  put  there 
for  bunco-men.  You've  stolen  fifteen  thousand  dollars 
from  me.  Where  is  that  old  hell-hound  that's  got  my 
check  ?" 

"Here  are  six  square  and  responsible  citizens  of  Smyrna 
that  heard  you  make  your  proposition  and  saw  you  pass  that 
check,"  declared  Hiram,  stoutly,  awake  thoroughly,  now 
that  his  prized  plot  was  menaced.  "It  was  a  trade." 

"It  was  a  steal!"  The  Colonel  caught  sight  of  Cap'n 
Sproul  on  the  outskirts  of  the  group.  "You  cash  that  check 
and  I'll  have  you  behind  bars.  I've  stopped  payment  on  it." 

"Did  ye  telegraft  or  ride  to  the  bank  on  a  bicycle?"  in 
quired  the  Cap'n,  satirically.  He  came  straight  up  to  the 
fire,  pushing  the  furious  Colonel  to  one  side  as  he  passed  him. 
Angry  as  Ward  was,  he  did  not  dare  to  resist  or  attack  this 
grim  man  who  thus  came  upon  him,  dripping,  from  the  sea. 

"  Keep  out  of  the  way  of  gentlemen  who  want  to  dry  them 
selves,"  grunted  the  skipper,  and  he  calmly  took  possession 

266 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

of  the  fire,  beckoning  his  crew  to  follow  him.  The  Colonel 
and  Mr.  Bodge  were  shut  out  from  the  cheering  blaze. 

The  first  thing  Cap'n  Sproul  did,  as  he  squatted  down, 
was  to  pull  out  his  wallet  and  inspect  the  precious  check. 

"It's  pretty  wet,"  he  remarked,  "but  the  ink  ain't  run  any. 
A  little  dryin'  out  is  all  it  needs." 

And  with  Ward  shouting  fearful  imprecations  at  him  over 
the  heads  of  the  group  about  the  fire,  he  proceeded  calmly  to 
warm  the  check,  turning  first  one  side  and  then  the  other  to 
the  blaze. 

"If  you  try  to  grab  that,"  bawled  Hiram,  who  was  squat 
ting  beside  the  Cap'n,  eying  him  earnestly  in  his  task,  "I'll 
break  in  your  head."  Then  he  nudged  the  elbow  of  the 
Cap'n,  who  had  remained  apparently  oblivious  of  his  pres 
ence.  "Aaron,"  he  muttered,  "there's  been  some  things 
between  us  to-night  that  I  wish  hadn't  been.  But  I'm  quick 
tempered,  and  I  ain't  used  to  the  sea,  and  what  I  done  was 
on  the  spur  of  the  moment.  But  I've  shown  that  I'm  your 
friend,  and  I'll  do  more  to  show — 

"Hiram,"  broke  in  the  Cap'n,  and  his  tone  was  severe, 
"mutiny  ain't  easy  overlooked.  But  considerin'  that  your 
elephant  has  squared  things  for  you,  we'll  let  it  stand  as 
settled.  But  don't  ever  talk  about  it.  I'm  havin'  too  hard 
work  to  control  my  feelin's." 

And  then,  looking  up  from  the  drying  check,  he  fixed  the 
vociferous  Colonel  with  flaming  eyes. 

"Did  ye  hear  me  make  a  remark  about  my  feelin's  ?"  he 
rasped.  "Your  business  and  my  business  has  been  settled, 
and  here's  the  paper  to  show  for  it."  He  slapped  his  hand 
across  the  check.  "I  didn't  come  back  here  to  talk  it  over." 
He  gulped  down  his  wrathful  memory  of  the  reasons  that 
had  brought  him.  "You've  bought  Bodge.  You've  bought 

267 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Cap  Kidd's  treasure,  wherever  it  is.  You're  welcome  to 
Bodge  and  to  the  treasure.  And,  controllin'  Bodge  as  you 
do,  you'd  better  let  him  make  you  up  another  fire  off  some 
little  ways  from  this  one,  because  this  one  ain't  big  enough 
for  you  and  me  both."  The  Cap'n's  tone  was  significant. 
There  was  stubborn  menace  there,  also.  After  gazing  for  a 
time  on  Sproul's  uncompromising  face  and  on  the  check  so 
tantalizingly  displayed  before  the  blaze,  Colonel  Ward  turned 
and  went  away.  Ten  minutes  later  a  rival  blaze  mounted  to 
the  heavens  from  a  distant  part  of  Cod  Lead  Nubble.  Half 
an  hour  later  Mr.  Bodge  came  as  an  emissary.  He  brought 
the  gage  of  battle  and  flung  it  down  and  departed  instantly. 

"Colonel  Ward  says  for  me  to  say  to  you,"  he  announced, 
"that  he'll  bet  a  thousand  dollars  you  don't  dare  to  hand 
that  check  into  any  bank." 

"And  you  tell  him  I'll  bet  five  thousand  dollars,"  bellowed 
the  Cap'n,  "that  I  not  only  dare  to  cash  it,  but  that  I'll  get  to 
a  bank  and  do  it  before  he  can  get  anywhere  and  stop 
payment." 

"It's  a  pretty  fair  gamble  both  ways,"  remarked  Hiram, 
his  sporting  instincts  awake.  "You  may  know  more  about 
water  and  ways  of  gettin'  acrost  that,  but  if  this  wind  holds 
up  the  old  spider  will  spin  out  a  thread  and  ride  away  on  it. 
He's  ga'nt  enough!" 

Cap'n  Sproul  made  no  reply.  He  sat  before  his  fire  buried 
in  thought,  the  gale  whipping  past  his  ears. 

Colonel  Ward,  after  ordering  the  returned  and  communi 
cative  Bodge  to  shut  up,  was  equally  thoughtful  as  he  gazed 
into  his  fire.  Ludelphus  Murray,  after  trying  long  and  in 
vain  to  light  a  soggy  pipeful  of  tobacco,  gazed  into  the  fire- 
lit  faces  of  his  comrades  of  the  Ancients  and  Honorables  of 
Smyrna  and  said,  with  a  sickly  grin : 

268 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"I  wisht  I  knew  Robinson  Crusoe's  address.  He  might 
like  to  run  out  and  spend  the  rest  of  the  fall  with  us." 

But  the  jest  did  not  cheer  the  gloom  of  the  marooned  on 
Cod  Lead  Nubble. 


XXIII 

AP'N  AARON  SPROUL  had  forgotten  his 
troubles  for  a  time.  He  had  been  dozing. 
The  shrewish  night  wind  of  autumn  whistled 
over  the  ledges  of  Cod  Lead  Nubble  and  scat 
tered  upon  his  gray  beard  the  black  ashes  from 
the  bonfire  that  the  shivering  men  of  Smyrna  still  plied  with 
fuel.  The  Cap'n  sat  upright,  his  arms  clasping  his  doubled 
knees,  his  head  bent  forward. 

Hiram  Look,  faithful  friend  that  he  was,  had  curled  him 
self  at  his  back  and  was  snoring  peacefully.  He  had  the  ap 
pearance  of  a  corsair,  with  his  head  wrapped  in  the  huge 
handkerchief  that  had  replaced  the  plug  hat  lost  in  the  stress 
and  storm  that  had  destroyed  the  Aurilla  P.  Dobson.  The 
elephant,  Imogene,  was  bulked  dimly  in  the  first  gray  of  a 
soppy  dawn. 

"If  this  is  goin'  to  sea,"  said  Jackson  Denslow,  continuing 
the  sour  mutterings  of  the  night,  "I'm  glad  I  never  saw  salt 
water  before  I  got  pulled  into  this  trip." 

"It  ain't  goin'  to  sea,"  remarked  another  of  the  Smyrna 
amateur  mariners.  "It's  goin'  ashore!"  He  waved  a  dis 
consolate  gesture  toward  the  cove  where  the  remains  of  the 
Dobson  swashed  in  the  breakers. 

"If  any  one  ever  gets  me  navigatin'  again  onto  anything 
desp'ritter  than  a  stone-bo't  on  Smyrna  bog,"  said  Denslow, 
"I  hope  my  relatives  will  have  me  put  into  a  insane  horse- 
pittle." 

270 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"Look  at  that!"  shouted  Ludelphus  Murray.  "This  is 
a  thunderation  nice  kind  of  a  night  to  have  a  celebration  on!" 

This  yelp,  sounding  above  the  somniferous  monotone  of 
grumbling,  stirred  Cap'n  Sproul  from  his  dozing.  He 
snapped  his  head  up  from  his  knees.  A  rocket  was  streaking 
across  the  sky  and  popped  with  a  sprinkling  of  colored  fires. 
Another  and  another  followed  with  desperate  haste,  and  a 
Greek  fire  shed  baleful  light  across  the  waters. 

"Yes,  sir,"  repeated  Murray,  indignantly  sarcastic,  "it's 
a  nice  night  and  a  nice  time  of  night  to  be  celebratin'  when 
other  folks  is  cold  and  sufferin'  and  hungry." 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Hiram,  stirring  in  his  turn. 

The  Cap'n  was  prompt  with  biting  reply. 

"One  of  your  Smyrna  'cyclopedys  of  things  that  ain't  so 
is  open  at  the  page  headed  'idjit,'  with  a  chaw  of  tobacker 
for  a  book-mark.  If  the  United  States  Government  don't 
scoop  in  the  whole  of  us  for  maintainin'  false  beacons  on  a 
dangerous  coast  in  a  storm,  then  I  miss  my  cai'lations,  that's 
all!" 

"That  shows  the  right  spirit  out  there,"  vouchsafed 
Hiram,  his  eyes  kindling  as  another  rocket  slashed  the  sky. 
"Fireworks  as  soon  as  they've  located  us  is  the  right  spirit, 
I  say!  The  least  we  can  do  is  to  give  'em  three  cheers." 

But  at  this  Cap'n  Sproul  staggered  up,  groaning  as  his 
old  enemy,  rheumatism,  dug  its  claws  into  his  flesh.  He 
made  for  the  shore,  his  disgust  too  deep  for  words. 

"Me — me,"  he  grunted,  "in  with  a  gang  that  can't  tell  the 
difference  between  a  vessel  goin'  to  pieces  and  a  fireworks 
celebration!  I  don't  wonder  that  the  Atlantic  Ocean  tasted 
of  us  and  spit  us  ashore.  She  couldn't  stand  it  to  drown 
us!" 

When  the  others  straggled  down  and  gabbled  questions  at 

271 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

him  he  refused  to  reply,  but  stood  peering  into  the  lifting 
dawn.  He  got  a  glimpse  of  her  rig  before  her  masts  went 
over.  She  was  a  hermaphrodite  brig,  and  old-fashioned 
at  that.  She  was  old-fashioned  enough  to  have  a  figure 
head.  It  came  ashore  at  Cap'n  Sproul's  feet  as  avant- 
coureur  of  the  rest  of  the  wreckage.  It  led  the  procession 
because  it  was  the  first  to  suffer  when  the  brig  butted  her 
nose  against  the  Blue  Cow  Reef.  It  came  ashore  intact,  a 
full-sized  woman  carved  from  pine  and  painted  white.  The 
Cap'n  recognized  the  fatuous  smile  as  the  figure  rolled  its 
face  up  at  him  from  the  brine. 

"The  old  Polyhymnia!"  he  muttered. 

Far  out  there  was  a  flutter  of  sail,  and  under  his  palm  he 
descried  a  big  yawl  making  off  the  coast.  She  rode  lightly, 
and  he  could  see  only  two  heads  above  her  gunwale. 

"That's  Cap  Hart  Tate,  all  right,"  mused  the  Cap'n; 
"Cap  Hart  Tate  gallantly  engaged  in  winnin'  a  medal  by 
savin'  his  own  life.  But  knowin'  Cap  Hart  Tate  as  well  as 
I  do,  I  don't  see  how  he  ever  so  far  forgot  himself  as  to  take 
along  any  one  else.  It  must  be  the  first  mate,  and  the  first 
mate  must  have  had  a  gun  as  a  letter  of  recommendation!" 

It  may  be  said  in  passing  that  this  was  a  distinctly  shrewd 
guess,  and  the  Cap'n  promptly  found  something  on  the  seas 
that  clinched  his  belief.  Bobbing  toward  Cod  Lead  came 
an  overloaded  dingy.  There  were  six  men  in  it,  and  they 
were  making  what  shift  they  could  to  guide  it  into  the  cove 
between  the  outer  rocks.  They  came  riding  through  safely 
on  a  roller,  splattered  across  the  cove  with  wildly  waving 
oars,  and  landed  on  the  sand  with  a  bump  that  sent  them 
tumbling  heels  over  head  out  of  the  little  boat. 

"Four  Portygee  sailors,  the  cook,  and  the  second  mate," 
elucidated  Cap'n  Sproul,  oracularly,  for  his  own  information. 

272 


THE    SKIPPER    AND    THE    SKIPPED 

The  second  mate,  a  squat  and  burly  sea-dog,  was  first  up 
on  his  feet  in  the  white  water,  but  stumbled  over  a  struggling 
sailor  who  was  kicking  his  heels  in  an  attempt  to  rise.  When 
the  irate  mate  was  up  for  the  second  time  he  knocked  down 
this  sailor  and  then  strode  ashore,  his  meek  followers  coming 
after  on  their  hands  and  knees. 

"Ahoy,  there,  Dunk  Butts!"  called  Cap'n  Sproul,  heartily. 

But  Dunk  Butts  did  not  appear  to  warm  to  greetings  nor 
to  rejoice  over  his  salvation  from  the  sea.  He  squinted 
sourly  at  the  Cap'n,  then  at  the  men  of  Smyrna,  and  then  his 
eyes  fell  upon  the  figurehead  and  its  fatuous  smile. 

With  a  snarl  he  leaped  on  it,  smashed  his  knuckles  against 
its  face,  swore  horribly  while  he  danced  with  pain,  kicked  it 
with  his  heavy  sea-boots,  was  more  horribly  profane  as  he 
hopped  about  with  an  aching  toe  in  the  clutch  of  both  hands, 
and  at  last  picked  up  a  good-sized  hunk  of  ledge  and  went 
at  the  smiling  face  with  Berserker  rage. 

Cap'n  Sproul  had  begun  to  frown  at  Butts's  scornful  slight 
ing  of  his  amiable  greeting.  Now  he  ran  forward,  placed 
his  broad  boot  against  the  second  mate,  and  vigorously 
pushed  him  away  from  the  prostrate  figure.  When  Butts 
came  up  at  him  with  the  fragment  of  rock  in  his  grasp,  Cap'n 
Sproul  faced  him  with  alacrity,  also  with  a  piece  of  rock. 

"You've  knowed  me  thutty  years  and  sailed  with  me  five, 
Dunk  Butts,  and  ye're  shinnin'  into  the  wrong  riggin'  when 
ye  come  at  me  with  a  rock.  I  ain't  in  no  very  gentle  spirits 
to-day,  neither." 

"I  wasn't  doin'  northin'  to  you,"  squealed  Butts,  his  anger 
becoming  mere  querulous  reproach,  for  the  Cap'n's  eye  was 
fiery  and  Butts's  memory  was  good. 

"You  was  strikin'  a  female,"  said  Cap'n  Sproul,  with 
severity,  and  when  the  astonished  Butts  blazed  indignant 

273 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

remonstrance,  he  insisted  on  his  point  with  a  stubbornness 
that  allowed  no  compromise.  "  It  don't  make  any  difference 
even  if  it  is  only  a  painted  figger.  It's  showin'  disrespect 
to  the  sex,  and  sence  I've  settled  on  shore,  Butts,  and  am 
married  to  the  best  woman  that  ever  lived,  I'm  standin'  up 
for  the  sex  to  the  extent  that  I  ain't  seein'  no  insults  handed 
to  a  woman — even  if  it  ain't  anything  but  an  Injun  maiden 
in  front  of  a  cigar-store." 

Butts  dropped  his  rock. 

"I  never  hurt  a  woman,  and  I  would  never  hurt  one,"  he 
protested,  "and  you  that's  sailed  with  me  knows  it.  But 
that  blasted,  grinnin'  effijiggy  there  stands  for  that  rotten 
old  punk-heap  that's  jest  gone  to  pieces  out  yender,  and  it's 
the  only  thing  I've  got  to  get  back  on.  Three  months  from 
Turk's  Island,  Cap'n  Sproul,  with  a  salt  cargo  and  grub  that 
would  gag  a  dogfish!  Lay  down  half  a  biskit  and  it  would 
walk  off.  AH  I've  et  for  six  weeks  has  been  doughboys 
lolloped  in  Forty  Reek.  He  kicked  me  when  I  complained." 
Butts  shook  wavering  finger  at  the  shred  of  sail  in  the  dis 
tance.  "He  kept  us  off  with  the  gun  to-day  and  sailed  away 
in  the  yawl,  and  he  never  cared  whuther  we  ever  got  ashore 
or  not.  And  the  grin  he  give  me  when  he  done  it  was  jest 
like  the  grin  on  that  thing  there."  Again  the  perturbed 
Butts  showed  signs  of  a  desire  to  assault  the  wooden  incar 
nation  of  the  spirit  of  the  Polyhymnia. 

"A  man  who  has  been  abused  as  much  as  you  have  been 
abused  at  sea  has  good  reason  to  stand  up  for  your  rights 
when  you  are  abused  the  moment  you  reach  shore,"  barked 
a  harsh  voice.  Colonel  Gideon  Ward,  backed  by  the  faith 
ful  Eleazar  Bodge,  stood  safely  aloof  on  a  huge  bowlder,  his 
gaunt  frame  outlined  against  the  morning  sky.  "Are  you 
the  commander  of  those  men  ?"  he  inquired. 

274 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"I'm  second  mate,"  answered  Mr.  Butts. 

"You  and  your  men  are  down  there  associatin'  with  the 
most  pestilent  set  of  robbers  and  land-pirates  that  ever  dis 
graced  a  civilized  country,"  announced  the  Colonel.  "They 
robbed  me  of  fifteen  thousand  dollars  and  left  me  marooned 
here  on  this  desert  island,  but  the  wind  of  Providence  blew 
'em  back,  and  the  devil  wouldn't  have  'em  in  Tophet,  and 
here  they  are.  They'll  have  your  wallets  and  your  gizzards 
if  you  don't  get  away  from  'em.  I  invite  you  over  there  to 
my  fire,  gentlemen.  Mr. — " 

"Butts,"  said  the  second  mate,  staring  with  some  concern 
at  the  group  about  him  and  at  the  Cap'n,  who  still  held  his 
fragment  of  rock. 

"Mr.  Butts,  you  and  your  men  come  with  me  and  I'll  tell 
you  a  story  that  will — " 

Hiram  Look  thrust  forward  at  this  moment.  The  ex- 
showman  was  not  a  reassuring  personality  to  meet  ship 
wrecked  mariners.  His  big  handkerchief  was  knotted  about 
his  head  in  true  buccaneer  style.  The  horns  of  his  huge 
mustache  stuck  out  fiercely.  Mr.  Butts  and  his  timid  Portu 
guese  shrank. 

"He's  a  whack-fired,  jog-jiggered  old  sanup  of  a  liar," 
bellowed  this  startling  apparition,  who  might  have  been 
Blackbeard  himself.  "We  only  have  got  back  the  fifteen 
thousand  that  he  stole  from  us." 

These  amazing  figures  dizzied  Mr.  Butts,  and  his  face  re 
vealed  his  feelings.  He  blinked  from  one  party  to  the  other 
with  swiftly  calculating  gaze.  Looking  at  the  angry  Hiram, 
he  backed  away  two  steps.  After  staring  at  the  unkempt 
members  of  the  Smyrna  fire  department,  ranged  behind 
their  foreman,  he  backed  three  steps  more.  And  then  re 
flecting  that  the  man  of  the  piratical  countenance  had  un- 
19  275 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

blushingly  confessed  to  the  present  possession  of  the  disputed 
fortune,  he  clasped  his  hands  to  his  own  money-belt  and 
hurried  over  to  Colonel  Ward's  rock,  his  men  scuttling  be 
hind  him. 

"Don't  you  believe  their  lies,"  bellowed  the  Colonel, 
breaking  in  on  Hiram's  eager  explanations  of  the  timber-land 
deal  and  the  quest  of  the  treasure  they  had  come  to  Cod 
Lead  to  unearth.  "I'll  take  you  right  tc  the  hole  they  sold 
to  me,  I'll  show  you  the  plank  cover  they  made  believe  was 
the  lid  of  a  treasure-chest,  I'll  prove  to  you  they  are  pirates. 
We've  got  to  stand  together."  He  hastened  to  Mr.  Butts 
and  linked  his  arm  in  the  seaman's,  drawing  him  away. 
"There's  only  two  of  us.  We  can't  hurt  you.  We  don't 
want  to  hurt  you.  But  if  you  stay  among  that  bunch  they'll 
have  your  liver,  lights,  and  your  heart's  blood." 

Five  minutes  later  the  Ward  camp  was  posted  on  a  dis 
tant  pinnacle  of  the  island.  Cap'n  Sproul  had  watched 
their  retreat  without  a  word,  his  brows  knitted,  his  fists 
clutched  at  his  side,  and  his  whole  attitude  representing 
earnest  consideration  of  a  problem.  He  shook  his  head  at 
Hiram's  advice  to  pursue  Mr.  Butts  and  drag  him  and  his 
men  away  from  the  enemy.  It  occurred  to  him  that  the 
friendliest  chase  would  look  like  an  attack.  He  reflected 
that  he  had  not  adopted  exactly  the  tactics  that  were  likely 
to  warm  over  the  buried  embers  of  friendship  in  Mr.  Butts's 
bosom.  He  remembered  through  the  mists  of  the  years  that 
something  like  a  kick  or  a  belaying-pin  had  been  connected 
with  Mr.  Butts's  retirement  from  the  Benn. 

And  until  he  could  straighten  out  in  his  mind  just  what 
that  parting  difficulty  had  been,  and  how  much  his  temper 
had  triumphed  over  his  justice  to  Butts,  and  until  he  had 
figured  out  a  little  something  in  the  line  of  diplomatic  con- 

276 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

dilation,  he  decided  to  squat  for  a  time  beside  his  own  fire 
and  ruminate. 

For  an  hour  he  sat,  his  brow  gloomy,  and  looked  across  to 
where  Colonel  Ward  was  talking  to  Butts,  his  arms  revolving 
like  the  fans  of  a  crazy  windmill. 

"Lord!  Cap'n  Aaron,"  blurted  Hiram  at  last,  "he's 
pumpin'  lies  into  that  shipmate  of  yourn  till  even  from  this 
distance  I  can  see  him  swellin'  like  a  hop-toad  under  a  mul 
lein  leaf.  I  tell  you,  you've  got  to  do  something.  What  if 
it  should  come  calm  and  you  ain't  got  him  talked  over  and 
they  should  take  the  boat  and  row  over  to  the  mainland  ? 
Where'd  you  and  your  check  be  if  he  gets  to  the  bank  first  ? 
You  listen  to  my  advice  and  grab  in  there  or  we  might  just 
as  well  never  have  got  up  that  complicated  plot  to  get  even 
with  the  old  son  of  a  seco." 

"Hiram,"  said  the  Cap'n,  after  a  moment's  deliberation, 
the  last  hours  of  the  Aurilla  P.  Dobson  rankling  still,  "sence 
you  and  your  gang  mutinied  on  me  and  made  me  let  a  char 
tered  schooner  go  to  smash  I  ain't  had  no  especial  confidence 
in  your  advice  in  crisises.  I've  seen  you  hold  your  head 
level  in  crisises  on  shore — away  from  salt  water,  but  you 
don't  fit  in  'board  ship.  And  this,  here,  comes  near  enough 
to  bein'  'board  ship  to  cut  you  out.  I  don't  take  any  more 
chances  with  you  and  the  Smyrna  fire  department  till  I  get 
inland  at  least  fifty  miles  from  tide-water." 

Hiram  bent  injured  gaze  on  him. 

"You're  turnin'  down  a  friend  in  a  tight  place,"  he  com 
plained.  "I've  talked  it  over  with  the  boys  and  they  stand 
ready  to  lick  those  dagos  and  take  the  boat,  there,  and  row 
you  ashore." 

But  his  wistful  gaze  quailed  under  the  stare  the  Cap'n 
bent  on  him.  The  mariner  flapped  discrediting  hand  at  the 

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THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

pathetic  half-dozen  castaways  poking  among  the  rocks  for 
mussels  with  which  to  stay  their  hunger. 

"Me  get  in  a  boat  again  with  that  outfit?  Why,  I 
wouldn't  ride  acrost  a  duck  pond  in  an  ocean  liner  with  'em 
unless  they  were  crated  and  battened  below  hatches."  He 
smacked  his  hard  fist  into  his  palm.  "There  they  straddle, 
like  crows  on  new-ploughed  land,  huntin'  for  something  to 
eat,  and  no  thought  above  it,  and  there  ain't  one  of 'em  come 
to  a  reelizin'  sense  yet  that  they  committed  a  State  Prison 
offence  last  night  when  they  mutinied  and  locked  me  into 
my  own  cabin  like  a  cat  in  a  coop.  Now  I  don't  want  to 
have  any  more  trouble  over  it  with  you,  Hiram,  for  we've 
been  too  good  friends,  and  will  try  to  continner  so  after  this 
thing  is  over  and  done  with,  but  if  you  or  that  gang  of  up- 
country  sparrer-hawks  stick  your  fingers  or  your  noses  into 
this  business  that  I'm  in  now,  I'll  give  the  lobsters  and 
cunners  round  this  island  just  six  good  hearty  meals.  Now, 
that's  the  business  end,  and  it's  whittled  pickid,  and  you 
want  to  let  alone  of  it!" 

He  struggled  up  and  strode  away  across  the  little  valley 
between  the  stronghold  of  Colonel  Ward  and  his  own 
hillock. 

Colonel  Ward  stood  up  when  he  saw  him  approaching, 
and  Butts,  after  getting  busy  with  something  on  the  ground, 
stood  up,  also.  When  the  Cap'n  got  nearer  he  noted  that 
Butts  had  his  arms  full  of  rocks. 

"Dunk,"  called  Cap'n  Sproul,  placatingly,  pausing  at  a 
hostile  movement,  "you've  had  quite  a  long  yarn  with  that 
critter  there,  who's  been  fillin'  you  up  with  lies  about  me, 
and  now  it's  only  fair  that  as  an  old  shipmate  you  should 
listen  to  my  side.  I — " 

"You  bear  off!"  blustered  Mr.  Butts.     "You  hold  your 
278 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

own  course,  'cause  the  minute  you  get  under  my  bows  I'll 
give  you  a  broadside  that  will  put  your  colors  down.  You've 
kicked  me  the  last  time  you're  ever  goin'  to." 

"I  was  thinkin'  it  was  a  belayin'-pin  that  time  aboard  the 
Benn"  muttered  the  Cap'n.  "I  guess  I  must  have  forgot 
and  kicked  him."  Then  once  again  he  raised  his  voice  in 
appeal.  "You're  the  first  seafarin'  man  I  know  of  that  left 
your  own  kind  to  take  sides  with  a  land-pirut." 

"You  ain't  seafarin'  no  more,"  retorted  Mr.  Butts,  inso 
lently.  "Talk  to  me  of  bein'  seafarin'  with  that  crowd  of 
jays  you've  got  round  you!  You  ain't  northin'  but  moss- 
backs  and  bunko-men."  Cap'n  Sproul  glanced  over  his 
shoulder  at  the  men  of  Smyrna  and  groaned  under  his 
breath.  "I  never  knowed  a  seafarin'  man  to  grow  to  any 
good  after  he  settled  ashore.  Havin'  it  in  ye  all  the  time, 
you've  turned  out  a  little  worse  than  the  others,  that's  all." 

Mr.  Butts  continued  on  in  this  strain  of  insult,  having  the 
advantage  of  position  and  ammunition  and  the  mind  to 
square  old  scores.  And  after  a  time  Cap'n  Sproul  turned 
and  trudged  back  across  the  valley. 

There  was  such  ferocity  on  his  face  when  he  sat  down  by 
his  fire  that  Hiram  Look  gulped  back  the  questions  that  were 
in  his  throat.  He  recognized  that  it  was  a  crisis,  realized 
that  Cap'n  Sproul  was  autocrat,  and  refrained  from  irritat 
ing  speech. 


XXIV 

Y  noon  the  sun  shone  on  Cod  Lead  wanly  be 
tween  ragged  clouds.  But  its  smile  did  not 
warm  Cap'n  Sproul's  feelings.  Weariness, 
rheumatism,  resentment  that  became  bitterer 
the  more  he  pondered  on  the  loss  of  the  Dobson, 
and  gnawing  hunger  combined  to  make  a  single  sentiment  of 
sullen  fury;  the  spectacle  of  Colonel  Ward  busy  with  his 
schemes  on  the  neighboring  pinnacle  sharpened  his  anger 
into  something  like  ferocity. 

The  wind  had  died  into  fitful  breaths.  The  sea  still  beat 
furiously  on  the  outer  ledges  of  the  island,  but  in  the  reach 
between  the  island  and  the  distant  main  there  was  a  living 
chance  for  a  small  boat.  It  was  not  a  chance  that  unskilful 
rowers  would  want  to  venture  upon,  but  given  the  right  crew 
the  Cap'n  reflected  that  he  would  be  willing  to  try  it. 

Evidently  Mr.  Butts,  being  an  able  seaman,  was  reflecting 
upon  something  of  the  same  sort.  The  Portuguese  sailors, 
the  last  one  of  the  departing  four  dodging  a  kick  launched 
at  him  by  Mr.  Butts,  went  down  to  the  shore,  pulled  the 
abandoned  dingy  upon  the  sand,  and  emptied  the  water 
out  of  it.  They  fished  the  oars  out  of  the  flotsam  in  the 
cove.  Then  they  sat  down  on  the  upturned  boat,  mani 
festly  under  orders  and  awaiting  further  commands. 

"Then  ye're  goin'  to  let  'em  do  it,  be  ye  ?"  huskily  asked 
Hiram.  "Goin'  to  let  him  get  to  the  bank  and  stop  payment 

280 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

on  that  check  ?  I  tell  you  the  boys  can  get  tliat  boat  away 
from  'em!  It  better  be  smashed  than  used  to  carry  Gid 
Ward  off'm  this  island." 

But  Cap'n  Sproul  did  not  interrupt  his  bitter  ruminations 
to  reply.  He  merely  shot  disdainful  glance  at  the  Smyrna 
men,  still  busy  among  the  mussels. 

It  was  apparent  that  Mr.  Butts  had  decided  that  he  would 
feel  more  at  ease  upon  his  pinnacle  until  the  hour  arrived 
for  embarkation.  In  the  game  of  stone-throwing,  should 
Cap'n  Sproul  accept  that  gage  of  battle,  the  beach  was  too 
vulnerable  a  fortress,  and,  like  a  prudent  commander,  Mr. 
Butts  had  sent  a  forlorn  hope  onto  the  firing-line  to  test  con 
ditions.  This  was  all  clear  to  Cap'n  Sproul.  As  to  Mr. 
Butts 's  exact  intentions  relative  to  the  process  of  getting 
safely  away,  the  Cap'n  was  not  so  clear. 

"Portygees!"  he  muttered  over  and  over.  "There's  men 
that  knows  winds,  tides,  rocks,  shoals,  currents,  compass, 
and  riggin'  that  don't  know  Portygees.  It  takes  a  master 
mariner  to  know  Portygees.  It  takes  Portygees  to  know  a 
master  mariner.  They  know  the  language.  They  know 
the  style.  They  get  the  idee  by  the  way  he  looks  at  'em. 
It's  what  he  says  and  the  way  he  says  it.  Second  mates  ain't 
got  it.  P'r'aps  I  ain't  got  it,  after  bein'  on  shore  among 
clodhoppers  for  two  years.  But,  by  Judas  Iscarrot,  I'm 
goin*  to  start  in  and  find  out!  Portygees!  There's  Porty 
gees!  Here's  me  that  has  handled  'em — batted  brains  into 
'em  as  they've  come  over  the  side,  one  by  one,  and  started 
'em  goin'  like  I'd  wind  up  a  watch!  And  a  belayin'-pin  is 
the  key!" 

He  arose  with  great  decision,  buttoned  his  jacket,  cocked 
his  cap  to  an  angle  of  authority  on  his  gray  hair,  and  started 
down  the  hill  toward  the  boat. 

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THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"He's  goin'  to  call  in  his  bunko-men  and  take  that  boat," 
bleated  Mr.  Butts  to  Colonel  Ward. 

"Wild  hosses  couldn't  drag  him  into  a  boat  again  with 
those  human  toadstools,  and  I've  heard  him  swear  round 
here  enough  to  know  it,"  scoffed  the  Colonel.  "He's  just 
goin'  down  to  try  to  wheedle  your  sailors  like  he  tried  to 
wheedle  you,  and  they're  your  men  and  he  can't  do  it." 

And  in  the  face  of  this  authority  and  confidence  in  the 
situation  Mr.  Butts  subsided,  thankful  for  an  excuse  to  keep 
at  a  respectful  distance  from  Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul. 

That  doughty  expert  on  "Portygees"  strode  past  the 
awed  crew  with  an  air  that  they  instinctively  recognized  as 
belonging  to  the  quarter-deck.  Their  meek  eyes  followed 
him  as  he  stumped  into  the  swash  and  kicked  up  two  belay- 
ing-pins  floating  in  the  debris.  He  took  one  in  each  hand, 
came  back  at  them  on  the  trot,  opening  the  flood-gates  of 
his  language.  And  they  instinctively  recognized  that  as 
quarter-deck,  too.  They  knew  that  no  mere  mate  could 
possess  that  quality  of  utterance  and  redundancy  of 
speech. 

He  had  a  name  for  each  one  as  he  hit  him.  It  was  a  game 
of  "Tag,  you're  it!"  that  made  him  master,  in  that  moment 
of  amazement,  from  the  mere  suddenness  of  it.  A  man  with 
less  assurance  and  slighter  knowledge  of  sailorman  char 
acter  might  have  been  less  abrupt — might  have  given  them 
a  moment  in  which  to  reflect.  Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul  kept 
them  going — did  their  thinking  for  them,  dizzied  their  brains 
by  thwacks  of  the  pins,  deafened  their  ears  by  his  terrific 
language. 

In  fifteen  seconds  they  had  run  the  dingy  into  the  surf, 
had  shipped  oars,  and  were  lustily  pulling  away — Cap'n 
Sproul  in  the  stern  roaring  abuse  at  them  in  a  way  that 

282 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

drowned  the  howls  of  Mr.  Butts,  who  came  peltering  down 
the  hill. 

But  Hiram  Look  was  even  more  nimble  than  that  protest 
ing  seaman. 

Before  the  little  craft  was  fairly  under  way  he  plunged  into 
the  surf  waist-deep  and  scrambled  over  the  stern,  nearly  up 
setting  the  Cap'n  as  he  rolled  in. 

And  Imogene,  the  elephant,  a  faithful  and  adoring  pachy 
derm,  pursued  her  lord  and  master  into  the  sea. 

Cap'n  Sproul,  recovering  his  balance  and  resuming  his 
interrupted  invective,  was  startled  by  the  waving  of  her 
trunk  above  his  head,  and  his  rowers  quit  work,  squealing 
with  terror,  for  the  huge  beast  was  making  evident  and  des 
perate  attempts  to  climb  on  board  and  join  her  fleeing  owner. 
It  was  a  rather  complicated  crisis  even  for  a  seaman,  accus 
tomed  to  splitting  seconds  in  his  battling  with  emergencies. 
An  elephant,  unusual  element  in  marine  considerations,  lent 
the  complication. 

But  the  old  sea-dog  who  had  so  instantly  made  himself 
master  of  men  now  made  himself  master  of  the  situation, 
before  the  anxious  Imogene  had  got  so  much  as  one  big  foot 
over  the  gunwale.  He  picked  up  the  late-arriving  Jonah, 
and,  in  spite  of  Hiram's  kicks  and  curses,  jettisoned  him 
with  a  splash  that  shot  spray  over  the  pursuing  elephant  and 
blinded  her  eyes. 

"Row — row,  you  blue-faced  sons  of  Gehenna,  or  she'll  eat 
all  four  of  you!"  shrieked  the  Cap'n;  and  in  that  moment 
of  stress  they  rowed!  Rowed  now  not  because  Cap'n  Sproul 
commanded — nor  ceased  from  rowing  because  Mr.  Butts 
countermanded.  They  rowed  for  their  own  lives  to  escape 
the  ravening  beast  that  had  chased  them  into  the  sea. 

Cap'n  Sproul,  watching  his  chance,  took  a  small  wave 

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THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

after  the  seventh  big  roller,  let  it  cuff  his  bow  to  starboard, 
and  made  for  the  lee  of  Cod  Lead,  rounding  the  island  into 
the  reach.  He  was  safely  away  and,  gazing  into  the  faces  of 
the  Portuguese,  he  grimly  reflected  that  for  impressed  men 
they  seemed  fully  as  glad  to  be  away  as  he.  They  rowed 
now  without  further  monition,  clucking,  each  to  himself, 
little  prayers  for  their  safe  deliverance  from  the  beast. 

It  was  not  possible,  with  safety,  to  cut  across  the  reach 
straight  for  the  main,  so  the  Cap'n  quartered  his  course  be 
fore  the  wind  and  went  swinging  down  the  seas,  with  little 
chance  of  coming  soon  to  shore,  but  confident  of  his  sea 
manship. 

But  that  seamanship  was  not  sufficient  to  embolden  him 
into  an  attempt  to  dodge  a  steamer  with  two  masts  and  a 
dun  funnel  that  came  rolling  out  from  behind  Eggemoggin 
and  bore  toward  him  up  the  reach.  He  was  too  old  a  sailor 
not  to  know  that  she  was  the  patrol  cutter  of  the  revenue 
service;  wind  and  sea  forced  him  to  keep  on  across  her  bows. 

She  slowed  her  engines  and  swung  to  give  him  a  lee. 
Cap'n  Sproul  swore  under  his  breath,  cursed  aloud  at  his 
patient  rowers,  and  told  them  to  keep  on.  And  when  these 
astonishing  tactics  of  a  lonely  dingy  in  a  raging  sea  were 
observed  from  the  bridge  of  the  cutter,  a  red-nosed  and  pro 
fane  man,  who  wore  a  faded  blue  cap  with  peak  over  one  ear, 
gave  orders  to  lower  away  a  sponson  boat,  and  came  himself 
as  coxswain,  as  though  unwilling  to  defer  the  time  of  reckon 
ing  with  such  recalcitrants. 

"What  in  billy-be-doosen  and  thunderation  do  you  mean, 
you  weevil-chawers,  by  not  coming  alongside  when  signalled 
— and  us  with  a  dozen  wrecks  to  chase  'longshore  ?"  he  de 
manded,  laying  officious  hand  on  the  tossing  gunwale  of  the 
dingy. 

284 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"We're  attendin'  strictly  to  our  own  business,  and  the 
United  States  Govvument  better  take  pattern  and  go  along 
and  mind  its  own,"  retorted  Cap'n  Sproul,  with  so  little  of 
the  spirit  of  gratitude  that  a  shipwrecked  mariner  ought  to 
display  that  the  cutter  officer  glared  at  him  with  deep 
suspicion. 

"What  were  you  mixed  up  in — mutiny  or  barratry?"  he 
growled.  "We'll  find  out  later.  Get  in  here!" 

"This  suits  me!"  said  Cap'n  Sproul,  stubbornly. 

The  next  moment  he  and  his  Portuguese  were  yanked 
over  the  side  of  the  boat  into  the  life-craft — a  dozen  sturdy 
chaps  assisting  the  transfer. 

"Let  the  peapod  go  afloat,"  directed  the  gruff  officer. 
"It's  off  the  Polyhymnia — name  on  the  stern-sheets — evi 
dence  enough — notice,  men!" 

"I'm  not  off  the  Polyhymnia"  protested  Cap'n  Sproul, 
indignantly.  "I  was  goin'  along  'tendin'  to  my  own  busi 
ness,  and  you  can't — 

"Business  ?"  sneered  the  man  of  the  faded  blue  cap.  "I 
thought  you  were  out  for  a  pleasure  sail!  You  shut  up!" 
he  snapped,  checking  further  complaints  from  the  Cap'n. 
"If  you've  got  a  story  that  will  fit  in  with  your  crazy-man 
actions,  then  you  can  wait  and  tell  it  to  the  court.  As  for 
me,  I  believe  you're  a  gang  of  mutineers!"  And  after  that 
bit  of  insolence  the  Cap'n  was  indignantly  silent. 

The  cutter  jingled  her  full-speed  bell  while  the  tackle  was 
still  lifting  the  sponson  boat. 

"They're  ugly,  and  are  hiding  something,"  called  the  man 
of  the  faded  cap,  swinging  up  the  bridge-ladder.  "No  good 
to  pump  more  lies  out  of  them.  We'll  go  where  they  came 
from,  and  we'll  get  there  before  we  can  ask  questions  and 
get  straight  replies." 

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THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Cap'n  Sproul,  left  alone  on  the  cutter's  deck,  took  out  his 
big  wallet,  abstracted  that  fifteen-thousand-dollar  check 
signed  by  Gideon  Ward,  and  seemed  about  to  fling  it  into  the 
sea. 

"Talk  about  your  hoodoos!"  he  gritted.  "Talk  about 
your  banana  skins  of  Tophet!  Twice  I've  slipped  up  on  it 
and  struck  that  infernal  island.  Even  his  name  written  on 
a  piece  of  paper  is  a  cuss  to  the  man  that  lugs  it!" 

But  after  hale  second  thought  he  put  the  check  back  into 
his  wallet  and  the  wallet  into  his  breast  pocket  and  buttoned 
his  coat  securely.  And  the  set  of  his  jaws  and  the  wrinkling 
of  his  forehead  showed  that  the  duel  between  him  and 
Colonel  Ward  was  not  yet  over. 

As  the  steamer  with  the  dun  smoke-stack  approached  Cod 
Lead  he  noted  sourly  the  frantic  signallings  of  the  marooned. 
He  leaned  on  the  rail  and  watched  the  departure  of  the 
officer  of  the  faded  blue  cap  with  his  crew  of  the  sponson 
boat.  He  observed  the  details  of  the  animated  meeting  of 
the  rescuers  and  the  rescued.  Without  great  astonishment 
he  saw  that  Hiram,  of  all  the  others,  remained  on  shore, 
leaning  disconsolately  against  the  protecting  bulk  of 
Imogene. 

"It's  most  a  wonder  he  didn't  try  to  load  that  infernal 
elephant  onto  that  life-boat,"  he  muttered.  "If  I  couldn't 
travel  through  life  without  bein'  tagged  by  an  old  gob  of 
meat  of  that  size,  I'd  hire  a  museum  and  settle  down  in  it." 

Cap'n  Sproul,  still  leaning  on  the  rail,  paid  no  attention 
to  the  snort  that  Colonel  Ward  emitted  as  he  passed  on  his 
way  to  the  security  of  the  steamer's  deck.  He  resolutely 
avoided  the  reproachful  starings  of  the  members  of  the 
Smyrna  fire  department  as  they  struggled  on  board.  Mr. 
Butts  came  last  and  attempted  to  say  something,  but  re- 

286 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

treated  promptly  before  the  Cap'n's  fiendish  snarl  and  click 
ing  teeth. 

"That  man  there,  with  the  elephant,  says  he  can't  leave 
her,"  reported  Faded  Cap  to  the  wondering  group  on  the 
bridge. 

"A  United  States  cutter  isn't  sent  out  to  collect  menage 
ries  accompanied  by  dry-nurses,"  stated  the  commander. 
"What  is  this  job  lot,  anyway — a  circus  in  distress?" 

"Says  the  elephant  can  swim  out  if  we'll  rig  a  tackle  and 
hoist  her  on  board.  Says  elephant  is  used  to  it." 

Something  in  the  loneliness  of  the  deserted  two  on  Cod 
Lead  must  have  appealed  to  the  commander.  He  was  pro 
fane  about  it,  and  talked  about  elephants  and  men  who 
owned  them  in  a  way  that  struck  an  answering  chord  in  the 
Cap'n's  breast.  But  he  finally  gave  orders  for  the  embarka 
tion  of  Imogene,  and  after  much  more  profanity  and  more 
slurs  which  Hiram  was  obliged  to  listen  to  meekly,  the  task 
was  accomplished,  and  the  cutter  proceeded  on  her  way 
along  coast  on  further  errands  of  mercy. 

And  then  the  Cap'n  turned  and  gazed  on  Hiram,  and 
the  showman  gazed  on  the  Cap'n.  The  latter  spoke 
first. 

"Hiram,"  he  said,  "it  ain't  best  for  you  and  me  to  talk 
this  thing  over,  just  as  it  stands  now — not  till  we  get  back  to 
Smyrna  and  set  down  on  my  front  piazzy.  P'r'aps  things 
won't  look  so  skeow-wowed  then  to  us  as  they  do  now.  We 
won't  talk  till  then." 

But  the  captain  of  the  cutter  was  not  as  liberal-minded. 
In  the  process  of  preparing  his  report  he  attempted  to  inter 
view  both  the  Cap'n  and  Colonel  Ward  at  the  same  time  in 
his  cabin,  and  at  the  height  of  the  riot  of  recriminations  that 
ensued  was  obliged  to  call  in  some  deck-hands  and  have  both 

287 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

ejected.  Then  he  listened  to  them  separately  with  increas 
ing  interest. 

"When  you  brought  this  family  fight  down  here  to  sprinkle 
salt  water  on  it,"  he  said  at  last,  having  the  two  of  them 
before  him  again,  with  a  deck-hand  restraining  each,  "you 
didn't  get  it  preserved  well  enough  to  keep  it  from  smelling. 
I  don't  reckon  I'll  stir  it.  It  doesn't  seem  to  be  a  ma 
rine  disaster.  The  United  States  Government  has  got  other 
things  to  attend  to  just  now  besides  settling  it.  Listen!" 

He  held  up  a  forefinger. 

"Smyrna  isn't  so  far  away  from  the  seashore  but  what  I've 
had  plenty  of  chances  to  hear  of  Colonel  Gideon  Ward  and 
his  general  dealings  with  his  neighbors.  For  myself,  I'd 
rather  have  less  money  and  a  reputation  that  didn't  spread 
quite  so  far  over  the  edges.  As  for  you,  Cap'n  Sproul,  as  a 
seaman  I  can  sympathize  with  you  about  getting  cheated  by 
land-pirates  in  that  timber-land  deal  and  in  other  things. 
But  as  a  representative  of  the  Government  I'm  not  going  to 
help  you  make  good  to  the  extent  of  fifteen  thousand  dollars 
on  a  hole  and  a  Cap  Kidd  treasure  fake.  Hands  off  for  me, 
seeing  that  it's  a  matter  strictly  in  the  family!  This  cutter 
is  due  to  round  to  in  Portland  harbor  to-morrow  morning  a 
little  after  nine  o'clock.  I'll  send  the  two  of  you  in  my  gig 
to  Commercial  Wharf,  see  that  both  are  landed  at  the  same 
time,  and  then — well" — the  commander  turned  quizzical 
gaze  from  one  to  the  other  with  full  appreciation  of  the 
situation — "it  then  depends  on  what  you  do,  each  of  you, 
and  how  quick  you  do  it." 

The  Cap'n  walked  out  of  the  room,  his  hand  on  his  breast 
pocket.  Colonel  Ward  followed,  closing  and  unclosing  his 
long  fingers  as  if  his  hands  itched  to  get  at  that  pocket. 

At  the  first  peep  of  dawn  Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul  was  posted 
288 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

at  the  cutter's  fore  windlass,  eyes  straight  ahead  on  the  nick 
in  the  low,  blue  line  of  coast  that  marked  the  harbor's  en 
trance.  His  air  was  that  of  a  man  whose  anxiety  could  not 
tolerate  any  post  except  the  forepeak.  And  to  him  there 
came  Hiram  Look  with  tremulous  eagerness  in  his  voice  and 
the  weight  of  a  secret  in  his  soul. 

"I  heard  him  and  Butts  talkin'  last  night,  Cap'n  Aaron," 
he  announced.  "  It  was  Butts  that  thought  of  it  first.  The 
telefoam.  'Run  into  the  first  place  and  grab  a  telefoam,' 
says  Butts.  'Telefoam  'em  at  the  bank  to  stop  payment. 
It  will  take  him  ten  minutes  to  run  up  from  the  wharf.  Let 
him  think  you're  right  behind  him.  He's  got  to  go  to  the 
bank,'  says  Butts.  'He  can't  telefoam  'em  to  pay  the 
check.'  " 

The  Cap'n's  hand  dropped  dispiritedly  from  his  clutch  at 
his  pocket. 

"  I  knowed  something  would  stop  me,"  he  mourned. 
"The  whole  plot  is  a  hoodoo.  There  I  was  fired  back  twice 
onto  Cod  Lead!  Here  he  is,  landin'  the  same  time  as  I  do! 
And  when  he  stops  that  check  it  throws  it  into  law — and  I've 
got  the  laborin'-oar." 

"It  ain't  throwed  into  law  yet,  and  you  ain't  got  no 
laborin'-oar,"  cried  Hiram,  with  a  chuckle  that  astonished 
the  despondent  Cap'n.  "He  can't  telefoam!" 

"Can't  what?" 

"Why,  stayin'  out  in  that  rain-storm  has  give  him  the  most 
jeeroosly  cold  there's  been  sence  Aunt  Jerushy  recommended 
thoroughwort  tea!  It's  right  in  his  thro't,  and  he  ain't  got 
so  much  voice  left  as  wind  blowing  acrost  a  bottle.  Can't 
make  a  sound!  The  bank  folks  ain't  goin'  to  take  any  one's 
say-so  for  him.  Not  against  a  man  like  you  that's  got 
thutty  thousand  dollars  in  the  same  bank,  and  a  man  that 

289 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

they  know!  By  the  time  he  got  it  explained  to  any  one  so 
that  they'd  mix  in,  you  can  be  at  the  bank  and  have  it  all 
done." 

"Well,  he  ain't  got  cold  in  his  legs,  has  he  ?"  demanded 
the  Cap'n,  failing  to  warm  to  Hiram's  enthusiasm.  "It 
stands  jest  where  it  has  been  standin'.  There  ain't  no  rea 
son  why  he  can't  get  to  that  bank  as  quick  as  I  can.  Yes, 
quicker!  I  ain't  built  up  like  an  ostrich,  the  way  he  is." 

"Well,"  remarked  Hiram,  after  a  time,  "a  fair  show  and 
an  even  start  is  more'n  most  folks  get  in  this  life — and  you've 
got  that.  The  boss  of  this  boat  is  goin'  to  give  you  that 
much.  So  all  you  can  do  is  to  take  what's  given  you  and  do 
the  best  you  can.  And  all  I  can  do  is  stay  back  here  and 
sweat  blood  and  say  the  only  prayer  that  I  know,  which  is 
'Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep.'  ' 

And  after  this  bit  of  consolation  he  went  back  amidships 
to  comfort  the  hungry  Imogene,  who  had  been  unable  to  find 
much  in  the  cuisine  of  a  revenue  cutter  that  would  satisfy  the 
appetite  of  elephants. 

At  half-past  nine  in  the  forenoon  the  cutter  swept  past 
Bug  Light  and  into  the  inner  harbor.  Hardly  had  the 
steamer  swung  with  the  tide  at  her  anchorage  before  the 
captain's  gig  was  proceeding  briskly  toward  Commercial 
Wharf,  two  men  rowing  and  the  man  of  the  faded  blue  cap 
at  the  helm.  The  antagonists  in  the  strange  duello  sat  back 
to  back,  astraddle  a  seat.  At  this  hateful  contact  their  hair 
seemed  fairly  to  bristle. 

"Now,  gents,"  said  Faded  Cap,  as  they  approached  the 
wharf,  "the  skipper  said  he  wanted  fair  play.  No  scrougin' 
to  get  out  onto  the  ladder  first.  I'm  goin'  to  land  at  the 
double  ladder  at  the  end  of  the  wharf,  and  there's  room  for 
both  of  you.  I'll  say  'Now!'  and  then  you  start." 

290 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"You  fellers  are  gettin'  a  good  deal  of  fun  out  this  thing," 
sputtered  Cap'n  Sproul,  angrily,  "but  don't  you  think  I 
don't  know  it  and  resent  it.  Now,  don't  you  talk  to  me  like 
you  were  startin'  a  foot-race!" 

"What  is  it,  if  it  ain't  a  foot-race  ?"  inquired  Faded  Cap, 
calmly.  "They  don't  have  hacks  or  trolley-cars  on  that 
wharf,  and  you'll  either  have  to  run  or  fly,  and  I  don't  see 
any  signs  of  wings  on  you." 

Colonel  Ward  did  not  join  in  this  remonstrance.  He  only 
worked  his  jaws  and  uttered  a  few  croaks. 

When  the  gig  surged  to  the  foot  of  the  ladder,  Colonel 
Ward  attempted  a  desperate  play,  and  an  unfair  one.  He 
was  on  the  outside,  and  leaped  up,  stepped  on  Cap'n  Sproul, 
and  sprang  for  the  ladder.  The  Cap'n  was  quick  enough 
to  grab  his  legs,  yank  him  back  into  the  boat,  and  mount 
over  him  in  his  turn.  The  man  of  the  faded  cap  was  nearly 
stunned  by  Ward  falling  on  him,  and  the  rowers  lost  their 
oars. 

When  the  Colonel  had  untangled  himself  from  the  in 
dignant  seamen  and  had  escaped  up  the  ladder,  Cap'n 
Sproul  was  pelting  up  the  wharf  at  a  most  amazing  clip, 
considering  his  short  legs.  Before  Ward  had  fairly  gathered 
himself  for  the  chase  his  fifteen-thousand-dollar  check  and 
the  man  bearing  it  had  disappeared  around  a  corner  into  the 
street. 

But  the  squat  and  stubby  old  sailor  stood  little  show  in  a 
foot-race  with  his  gaunt  and  sinewy  adversary.  It  was  un 
doubtedly  Colonel  Ward's  knowledge  of  this  that  now  led 
him  to  make  the  race  the  test  of  victory  instead  of  depending 
on  an  interpreter  over  the  telephone.  A  little  more  than  a 
block  from  the  wharf's  lane  he  came  up  with  and  passed  his 
adversary.  Men  running  for  trolley-cars  and  steamboats 
20  291 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

were  common  enough  on  the  busy  thoroughfare,  and  people 
merely  made  way  for  the  sprinters. 

But  when  Colonel  Ward  was  a  few  lengths  ahead  of  the 
Cap'n,  the  latter  made  use  of  an  expedient  that  the  voiceless 
Colonel  could  not  have  employed  even  if  he  had  thought 
of  it. 

With  all  the  force  of  his  seaman's  lungs  he  bellowed: 
"Stop  thief!"  and  pounded  on  behind,  reiterating  the  cry 
vociferously.  At  first  he  had  the  pursuit  all  to  himself,  for 
bystanders  merely  ducked  to  one  side.  But  earnest  repeti 
tion  compels  attention,  and  attention  arouses  interest,  and 
interest  provokes  zeal.  In  a  little  while  a  dozen  men  were 
chasing  the  Colonel,  and  when  that  gentleman  went  lashing 
around  the  corner  into  Congress  Street  he — by  an  entirely 
natural  order  of  events — ran  into  a  policeman,  for  the  police 
man  was  running  in  the  opposite  direction  to  discover  what 
all  that  approaching  hullabaloo  was  about. 

Cap'n  Sproul,  prudently  on  the  outskirts  of  the  gathering 
crowd,  noted  with  rising  hope  that  the  policeman  and  the 
Colonel  were  rolling  over  each  other  on  the  ground,  and  that 
even  when  officious  hands  had  separated  them  the  facial 
contortions  of  the  voiceless  tyrant  of  Smyrna  were  not  mak 
ing  any  favorable  impression  on  the  offended  bluecoat. 

Cap'n  Sproul  started  away  for  the  bank  at  a  trot.  But  he 
began  to  walk  when  he  heard  the  policeman  shout:  "Aw, 
there's  enough  of  ye'r  moonkey  faces  at  me.  Yez  will 
coome  along  to  th'  station  and  talk  it  on  yer  fingers  to  th' 
marshal!" 

At  the  bank  door  the  Cap'n  halted,  wiped  his  face,  com 
posed  his  features,  set  on  his  cap  at  an  entirely  self-possessed 
angle,  and  then  marched  in  to  the  wicket. 

"Will  you  have  this  transferred  to  your  account,  Captain 

292 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Sproul  ?"  inquired  the  teller,  with  the  deference  due  to  a 
good  customer. 

The  Cap'n  anxiously  bent  a  stubbed  finger  around  a  bar 
of  the  grating.  Sudden  anxiety  as  to  leaving  the  money 
there  beset  him.  After  his  perils  and  his  toils  he  wanted  to 
feel  that  cash — to  realize  that  he  had  actually  cashed  in  that 
hateful  check. 

"I'll  take  the  real  plasters,"  he  said,  huskily;  "big  ones 
as  you've  got.  I — I  want  to  pay  for  some  vessel  property!" 
He  reflected  that  the  few  hundreds  that  the  loss  of  the  ancient 
Dobson  called  for  lifted  this  statement  out  of  the  cheap  level 
of  prevarication. 

When  he  hurried  out  of  the  bank  with  various  thick 
packets  stowed  about  his  person,  he  headed  a  straight  course 
for  the  police-station. 

In  the  marshal's  office  he  found  Colonel  Gideon  Ward, 
voiceless,  frantic,  trembling — licking  at  the  point  of  a  stubby 
lead-pencil  that  had  been  shoved  into  his  grasp,  and  trying 
to  compose  his  soul  sufficiently  to  write  out  some  of  the  in 
formation  about  himself,  with  which  he  was  bursting. 

"There  ain't  no  call  for  this  man  to  write  out  the  story  of 
his  life,"  declared  Cap'n  Sproul,  with  an  authority  in  his 
tones  and  positiveness  in  his  manner  that  did  not  fail  to  im 
press  the  marshal.  "He  is  my  brother-in-law,  he  is  Colonel 
Gideon  Ward,  of  Smyrna,  a  man  with  more'n  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars,  and  any  one  that  accuses  him  of  bein'  a 
thief  is  a  liar,  and  I  stand  here  to  prove  it." 

And  to  think  there  was  no  one  present  except  the  Colonel 
to  appreciate  the  cryptic  humor  of  that  remark! 

The  Cap'n  avoided  the  demoniacal  gaze  that  Ward  bent 
on  him  and  disregarded  the  workings  of  that  speechless 
mouth.  Sproul  shoved  his  hand  deep  into  his  trousers 

293 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

pocket  and  pulled  out  a  roll  of  bills  on  which  the  teller's  tape 
had  not  been  broken.  At  this  sight  the  Colonel  staggered 
to  his  feet. 

"Here!"  cried  the  Cap'n,  shoving  money  into  the  hand  of 
the  officer  who  had  made  the  arrest.  "There's  something 
to  pay  for  your  muddy  clothes.  *  Now  you'd  better  go  out 
and  find  the  man  that  started  all  this  touse  about  a  leadin' 
citizen.  I'll  sue  this  city  as  a  relative  of  his  if  you  don't  let 
him  go  this  minute." 

And  they  let  him  go,  with  an  apology  that  Colonel  Ward 
treated  with  perfectly  insulting  contempt. 

Cap'n  Sproul  faced  him  on  the  street  outside  the  prison, 
standing  prudently  at  guard,  for  he  perfectly  realized  that 
just  at  that  moment  Colonel  Gideon  Ward  had  all  the  at 
tributes  of  a  lunatic. 

"You  can  see  it  bulgin'  all  over  me,"  said  the  Cap'n,  "all 
tied  up  in  bundles.  I  don't  say  my  way  was  the  best  way 
to  get  it.  But  I've  got  it.  I  suppose  I  might  have  gone  to 
law  to  get  it,  but  that  ain't  my  way.  Of  course  you  can  go 
to  law  to  get  it  back;  but  for  reasons  that  you  know  just  as 
well  as  I,  I'd  advise  you  not  to — and  that  advice  don't  cost 
you  a  cent." 

For  a  full  minute  Colonel  Ward  stood  before  him  and 
writhed  his  gaunt  form  and  twisted  his  blue  lips  and  waggled 
his  bony  jaws.  But  not  a  sound  could  he  utter.  Then  he 
whirled  and  signalled  a  trolley-car  and  climbed  on  board. 
With  intense  satisfaction  the  Cap'n  noted  that  the  car  was 
marked  "Union  Station." 

"Well,  home  is  the  best  place  for  him,"  muttered  the 
Cap'n;  "home  and  a  flaxseed  poultice  on  his  chist  and  com 
plete  rest  of  mind  and  body.  Now  I'll  settle  for  that 
schooner,  hunt  up  Hime  Look  and  that  pertickler  and  ad- 

294 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

mirin'  friend  of  his,  that  infernal  elephant,  and  then  I  reckon 
I'll — eraow-w-w!"  he  yawned.  "I'll  go  home  and  rest  up  a 
little,  too." 

That  repose  was  not  disturbed  by  Colonel  Gideon  Ward. 
The  Colonel  had  decided  that  affairs  in  his  timber  tracts 
needed  his  attention  during  that  autumn. 


XXV 

VENTS  do  bunch  themselves   strangely,  some 
times. 

They  bunched  in  Smyrna  as  follows : 
i.  The    new   monument   arrived    for    Batson 
Reeves's   graveyard   lot   in  which  was    interred 
the  first  Mrs.  Reeves;   monument  a  belated  arrival. 

2.  The  announcement  was  made  that  Batson  Reeves  had 
at  last  caught  a  new  wife  in  the  person  of  Widow  Delora 
Crymble,  wedding  set  for  Tuesday  week. 

3.  Dependence  Crymble,  deceased  husband  of  Delora, 
reappeared    on    earth.     This    latter   event    to    be    further 
elaborated. 

Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul,  first  selectman  of  Smyrna,  on  his 
way  from  his  home  to  the  town  office,  found  several  men 
leaning  on  the  graveyard  fence,  gazing  over  into  the  hallowed 
precincts  of  the  dead  with  entire  lack  of  that  solemnity  that 
is  supposed  to  be  attached  to  graveyards.  It  was  on  the 
morning  following  the  last  stroke  of  work  on  the  Reeves 
monument. 

The  Reeves  monument,  a  wholly  unique  affair,  consisted 
of  a  life-sized  granite  figure  of  Mr.  Reeves  standing  on  a 
granite  pedestal  in  the  conventional  attitude  of  a  man  having 
his  photograph  taken.  His  head  was  set  back  stiffly,  the 
right  foot  was  well  advanced,  and  he  held  a  round-topped 
hat  in  the  hook  of  his  elbow. 

296 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

On  the  pedestal  was  carved: 

ERECTED    TO    THE    MEMORY    OF 
LOANTHA    REEVES, 

WIFE  OF  BATSON  REEVES,  ACCORDING  TO  HER 
LAST  REQUEST. 

It  may  be  said  in  passing  that  Mrs.  Reeves,  having  enter 
tained  a  very  exalted  opinion  of  Mr.  Reeves  during  life,  left 
a  portion  of  her  own  estate  in  the  hands  of  trustees  in  order 
that  this  sentinel  figure  should  stand  guard  above  her  in  the 
sunshine  and  the  rain.  The  idea  was  poetic.  But  Cap'n 
Sproul,  joining  the  hilarious  group  at  the  graveyard  fence, 
noted  that  some  gruesome  village  humorist  had  seriously  in 
terfered  with  the  poetic  idea.  Painted  on  a  planed  board 
set  up  against  the  monument  was  this: 

I'm  Watching  Here  Both  Night  and  Day, 
So  Number  One  Can't  Get  Away. 

"That's  kind  o'  pat,  Cap'n,  considerin'  he's  goin'  to  get 
married  to  Number  Two  next  week,"  suggested  one  of  the 
loungers. 

Cap'n  Sproul  scowled  into  the  grin  that  the  other  turned 
on  him. 

"I  ain't  got  any  regard  for  a  human  dogfish  like  Bat 
Reeves,"  he  grunted,  his  heart  full  of  righteous  bitterness 
against  a  proclaimed  enemy,  "but  as  first  selectman  of  this 
town  I  don't  stand  for  makin'  a  comic  joke-book  out  of  this 
cemetery."  He  climbed  over  the  fence,  secured  the  offending 
board  and  split  it  across  his  broad  toe.  Then  with  the 

297 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

pieces  under  his  arm  he  trudged  on  toward  the  town  office, 
having  it  in  his  mind  to  use  the  board  for  kindling  in  the 
barrel  stove. 

One  strip  he  whittled  savagely  into  shavings  and  the  other 
he  broke  into  fagots,  and  when  the  fire  was  snapping  mer 
rily  in  the  rusty  stove  he  resumed  a  labor  upon  which  he  had 
been  intent  for  several  days.  Predecessors  in  office  had 
called  it  "writing  the  town  report."  Cap'n  Sproul  called  it 
"loggin'  the  year's  run." 

A  pen  never  did  hang  easy  in  the  old  shipmaster's  stiff 
fingers.  The  mental  travail  of  this  unwonted  literary  ef 
fort  wrung  his  brain.  An  epic  poet  struggling  with  his 
masterpiece  could  not  have  been  more  rapt.  And  his 
nerves  were  correspondingly  touchy.  Constable  Zeburee 
Nute,  emerging  at  a  brisk  trot  from  the  town  office,  had  a 
warning  word  of  counsel  for  all  those  intending  to  venture 
upon  the  first  selectman's  privacy.  He  delivered  it  at 
Broadway's  store. 

"Talk  about  your  r'yal  Peeruvian  tigers  with  eighteen 
rings  on  their  tails!  He's  settin'  there  with  his  hair  standin* 
straight  up  and  ink  on  his  nose  and  clear  to  his  elbows,  and 
he  didn't  let  me  even  get  started  in  conversation.  He  up 
and  throwed  three  ledger-books  and  five  sticks  of  wood  at 
me,  and — so  I  come  away,"  added  Mr.  Nute,  resignedly. 
"I  don't  advise  nobody  to  go  in  there." 

However,  the  warning  delivered  at  Broadway's  store  did 
not  reach  a  certain  tall,  thin  man;  for  the  tall,  thin  man 
stalked  straight  through  the  village  and  up  to  the  door  in 
scribed  "Selectman's  Office."  In  his  hand  he  carried  a 
little  valise  about  as  large  as  a  loaf  of  yeast  bread.  The 
shrewish  December  wind  snapped  trousers  about  legs  like 
broom-handles.  Black  pads  were  hugged  to  his  ears  by  a 

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THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

steel  strip  that  curved  behind  his  head,  and  he  wore  a  hard 
hat  that  seemed  merely  to  perch  insecurely  on  his  caput 
instead  of  fit.  Constable  Nute,  getting  a  glimpse  of  him 
through  the  store-window,  remarked  that  with  five  minutes 
and  a  razor-strop  he  could  put  a  shaving  edge  on  the 
stranger's  visage,  but  added  promptly  when  he  saw  him  dis 
appear  into  the  town  office  that  some  one  could  probably  get 
a  job  within  the  next  five  minutes  honing  the  nicks  out  of 
that  edge. 

Cap'n  Sproul  was  just  then  absorbed  in  a  task  that  he 
hated  even  worse  than  literary  composition.  He  was  adding 
figures.  They  were  the  items  for  road  bills,  and  there  were 
at  least  two  yards  of  them  on  sheets  of  paper  pasted  together, 
for  nearly  every  voter  in  town  was  represented.  The  Cap'n 
was  half-way  up  one  of  the  columns,  and  was  exercising  all 
his  mental  grip  to  hold  on  to  the  slowly  increasing  total  on 
which  he  was  laboriously  piling  units. 

"I  am  always  glad  to  meet  a  man  who  loves  figgers,"  re 
marked  the  stranger,  solemnly.  He  set  his  valise  on  the 
table  and  leaned  over  the  Cap'n's  shoulder.  "I  have  won 
derful  faculty  for  figgers.  Give  me  a  number  and  I'll  tell 
you  the  cube  of  it  instantly,  in  the  snap  of  a  finger." 

Cap'n  Sproul  merely  ground  his  teeth  and  shoved  his  nose 
closer  to  the  paper.  He  did  not  dare  to  look  up.  His 
whole  soul  was  centred  in  effort  to  "walk  the  crack"  of 
that  column. 

"  I  could  do  it  when  I  was  fifteen — and  that  was  fifty  years 
ago,"  went  on  the  thin  man. 

The  enunciation  of  those  figures  nearly  put  the  Cap'n  out 
of  commission,  but  with  a  gulp  and  after  a  mental  stagger  he 
marched  on. 

"Now  give  me  figgers — tens  or  hundreds,"  pleaded  the 

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THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

stranger.  "I'll  give  you  the  cube  in  one  second — the  snap 
of  a  finger.  Since  I  see  you  hesitate,  we'll  take  sixteen — a 
very  simple  factor.  Cube  it!"  He  clacked  a  bony  finger 
into  an  osseous  palm  and  cried :  "  Four  thousand  and  ninety- 
six!" 

That  did  it! 

"Ninety-six,"  repeated  the  Cap'n,  dizzily;  realizing  that 
he  had  bounced  off  the  track,  he  rose,  kicked  his  chair  out 
from  under  him  and  shoved  a  livid  and  infuriated  visage  into 
the  thin  man's  face. 

"Whang-jacket  your  gor-righteously  imperdence!"  he  bel 
lowed,  "what  do  you  mean  by  stickin'  that  fish-hawk  beak 
of  your'n  into  my  business  and  make  me  lose  count  ?  Get 
to  Tophet  out  of  here!" 

The  stranger  calmly  removed  his  ear-pads  and  gazed  on 
the  furious  selectman  with  cold,  gray  and  critical  eyes. 

"Your  suggestion  as  to  destination  is  not  well  considered," 
he  said.  "There  is  no  hell.  There  is  no  heaven.  I  prac 
tically  settled  that  point  the  first  time  I  died.  The — 

Cap'n  Sproul,  without  especial  attention  to  this  astonish 
ing  announcement,  was  provoked  beyond  control  by  this 
stranger's  contemptuous  stare.  He  grabbed  up  an  ash-stick 
that  served  him  for  a  stove-poker. 

"Get  out  of  here,"  he  repeated,  "or  I'll  peg  you  down 
through  this  floor  like  a  spike!" 

But  the  thin  man  simply  gazed  at  him  mournfully  and  sat 
down. 

"Havin'  been  killed  three  times — three  times — dead  by 
violent  means,'  he  said,  "I  have  no  fear  of  death.  Strike 
me — I  shall  not  resist." 

Even  a  bashi-bazouk  must  have  quailed  before  that  amaz 
ing  declaration  and  that  patient  resignation  to  fate.  Cap'n 

300 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Sproul  looked  him  up  and  down  for  many  minutes  and  then 
tucked  the  smutty  ash-stick  under  the  stove. 

"Well,  what  insane  horsepittle  did  you  get  out  of  by 
crawlin'  through  the  keyhole  ?"  he  demanded. 

"Oh,  I  am  not  insane,"  remonstrated  the  thin  man.  "It 
is  always  easy  for  fools  in  this  world  to  blat  that  insult  when 
a  man  announces  something  that  they  don't  understand. 
A  man  that  knows  enough  to  be  selectman  of  Smyrna  hadn't 
ought  to  be  a  fool.  I  hope  you  are  not.  But  you  mustn't 
blat  like  a  fool." 

Cap'n  Sproul  could  not  seem  to  frame  words  just  then. 

"The  first  time  I  died,"  pursued  his  remarkable  guest, 
"I  was  frozen  to  death."  He  pulled  up  his  trousers  and 
showed  a  shank  as  shrunken  as  a  peg-leg.  "All  the  meat 
came  off.  The  second  time  I  died,  a  hoss  kicked  me  on  the 
head.  The  third  time,  a  tree  fell  on  me.  And  there  is  no 
hell — there  is  no  heaven.  If  there  had  been  I'd  have  gone 
to  one  place  or  the  other." 

"If  I  was  runnin'  either  place  you  wouldn't,"  said  the 
Cap'n,  sourly. 

The  thin  man  crossed  his  legs  and  was  beginning  to 
speak,  but  the  first  selectman  broke  in  savagely:  "Now 
look  here,  mister,  this  ain't  either  a  morgue,  a  receivin'- 
tomb,  nor  an  undertaker's  parlor.  If  you  want  to  get  buried 
and  ain't  got  the  price  I'll  lend  it  to  you.  If  you  want  to 
start  over  again  in  life  I'll  pay  for  havin'  your  birth-notice 
put  into  the  newspaper.  But  you  want  to  say  what  you  do 
want  and  get  out  of  here.  I've  got  some  town  business  to 
'tend  to,  and  I  ain't  got  any  time  to  spend  settin'  up  with 
corpses." 

Again  the  man  tried  to  speak.  Again  the  Cap'n  inter 
rupted.  "  I  ain't  disputin' a  thing  you  say,"  he  cried.  "I'm 

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THE    SKIPPER    AND    THE    SKIPPED 

admittin'  everything,  'cause  I  haven't  got  time  to  argue. 
You  may  have  been  dead  nine  times  like  a  cat.  I  don't  care. 
All  is,  you  go  along.  You'll  find  accommodations  at  the 
tavern,  the  graveyard,  or  the  town  farm,  whichever  hits  you 
best.  I'm  busy." 

But  when  he  pulled  his  paper  of  figures  under  his 
nose  again,  the  thin  man  tapped  his  fleshless  digit  on  the 
table. 

"You're  the  first  selectman,  aren't  you?"  he  demanded. 

"That's  what  I  be,"  returned  the  Cap'n,  smartly. 

"Well,  then,  you  got  to  pay  attention  to  town  business 
when  it  is  put  before  you.  I've  come  here  on  town  business. 
I  used  to  live  in  this  town." 

"Was  you  buried  here  or  was  your  remains  taken  away  ?" 
inquired  the  Cap'n,  genially,  hoping  that  satire  might  drive 
out  this  unwelcome  disturber. 

"Oh,  I  died  all  three  times  after  I  left  this  town,"  said  the 
thin  man,  in  matter-of-fact  tones.  "What  I'm  comin'  at  is 
this :  my  father  gave  the  land  to  this  town  to  build  the  school- 
house  on  out  in  the  Crymble  district.  Deed  said  if  the 
building  was  ever  abandoned  for  school  purposes  for  five 
years  running,  land  and  buildin'  came  back  to  estate.  I 
came  past  that  school-house  to-day  and  I  see  it  hasn't  been 
used." 

"We  don't  have  school  deestricks  any  more,"  explained 
the  Cap'n.  "We  transport  scholars  to  the  village  here. 
That's  been  done  for  six  years  and  over." 

"Then  I  claim  the  school-house  and  land,"  declared  the 
thin  man. 

"You  do,  hey?" 

"I  do.  I've  got  tired  of  travellin'  round  over  this  world, 
and  I'm  goin'  to  settle  down.  And  that  school-house  is  the 

302 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

only  real  estate  I've  got  to  settle  down  in.  I'll  keep  bach' 
hall  there." 

"Who  in  thunderation  are  you,  anyway?"  demanded 
Cap'n  Sproul,  propping  himself  on  the  table  and  leaning  for 
ward  belligerently. 

"My  name  is  Dependence  Crymble,"  replied  the  other, 
quietly.  "My  father  was  Hope-for-grace  Crymble.  Odd 
names,  eh  ?  But  the  Crymbles  were  never  like  other 
folks." 

Cap'n  Sproul  sat  down  hard  in  his  chair  and  goggled  at 
the  thin  man. 

"Say,  look-here-you,"  he  gasped  at  last.  "There  never 
could  be  more'n  one  name  like  Dependence  Crymble  in  this 
world.  I  ain't  a  native  here  and  I  don't  know  you  from 
Adam.  But  is  your  wife  the  Widow  Delora  Crymble — I 
mean,  was  she — oh,  tunk-rabbit  it,  I  reckon  I'm  gettin'  as 
crazy  as  you  are!" 

"I'm  not  insane,"  persisted  the  other.  "I'm  Dependence 
Crymble,  and  I  married  Delora  Goff.  I've  been  away  from 
here  twenty  years,  but  I  guess  the  old  residents  will  recognize 
me,  all  right." 

"But,"  declared  the  Cap'n,  floundering  for  a  mental  foot 
ing,  "it's  always  been  said  to  me  that  Dependence  Crymble 
died  off — away  somewhere." 

"I've  already  told  you  I  died,"  said  the  thin  man,  still 
mild  but  firm.  "That's  right,  just  as  you've  heard  it." 

"There's  a  stone  in  the  graveyard  to  you,"  went  on  the 
Cap'n,  clawing  his  stubby  fingers  into  his  bristle  of  hair, 
"and  they've  always  called  her  'Widder  Crymble'  and" — 
he  stood  up  again  and  leaned  forward  over  the  table  in  the 
attitude  of  Jove  about  to  launch  a  thunderbolt  and  gasped — 
"she's  goin'  to  get  married  to  Bat  Reeves,  Tuesday  of  next 

303 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

week — and  he's  the  most  infernal  scalawag  in  this  town,  and 
he's  took  her  after  he's  tried  about  every  other  old  maid  and 
widder  that's  got  property." 

The  thin  man  did  not  even  wince  or  look  astonished.  His 
querulous  mouth  only  dropped  lower  at  the  corners. 

"I  don't  care  who  marries  her.  She's  a  widder  and  can 
marry  any  one  she's  got  a  mind  to.  I  didn't  come  back 
here  to  mix  in.  She's  welcome  to  the  property  I  left  her. 
There  was  a  will.  It's  hers.  I've  been  administered  on  ac 
cording  to  law.  All  I  want  is  that  school-house  back  from 
the  town.  That's  mine  by  law." 

Cap'n  Sproul  sat  down  once  more. 

"  Well,"  he  said  at  last,  with  some  indignation,  "  if  you  was 
dead  and  wanted  to  stay  dead  and  leave  a  widder  and  prop 
erty  and  let  her  get  married  again,  and  all  that — what  in  the 
name  of  the  yaller-bellied  skate-fish  have  ye  come  ghostin' 
round  here  for  to  tip  everything  upside  down  and  galley- 
west  after  it's  been  administered  on  and  settled  ?  And  it  gets 
town  business  all  mixed  up!" 

The  thin  man  smiled  a  wistful  smile. 

"The  poet  says:  'Where'er  we  roam,  the  sky  beneath,  the 
heart  sighs  for  its  native  heath.'  That's  the  sentiment  side 
of  it.  But  there's  a  practical  side.  There's  the  school- 
house.  It  was  worth  passing  this  way  to  find  out  whether 
the  town  had  abandoned  it — and  I  reckoned  it  had,  and  I 
reckoned  right.  I  have  presentiments  that  come  true.  I 
reckoned  that  probably  the  relict  would  put  a  stone  in  the 
graveyard  for  me.  I  have  a  presentiment  that  I  shall  die 
twice  more,  staying  dead  the  fifth  time  I  pass  away.  That 
will  be  here  in  this  town,  and  the  gravestone  won't  be 
wasted." 

While  the  first  selectman  was  still  trying  to  digest  this, 

3°4 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

the  thin  man  opened  his  valise.  He  took  out  a  nickel  plate 
that  bore  his  name. 

"This  is  my  casket-plate,"  he  explained,  forcing  the 
grisly  object  into  the  resisting  hands  of  the  Cap'n.  "  Friends 
ordered  it  for  me  the  first  time  I  died.  I've  carried  it  with 
me  ever  since." 

"It  must  be  a  nice  way  of  passin'  a  rainy  Sunday,"  said 
the  Cap'n,  sarcastically,  pushing  the  plate  back  across  the 
table;  "set  and  look  at  that  and  hum  a  pennyr'yal  hymn! 
It's  sartinly  a  rollickin'  life  you're  leadin',  Mister  Crymble." 

Mr.  Crymble  did  not  retort.  On  the  contrary  he  asked, 
mildly,  gazing  on  the  scattered  sheets  of  paper  containing 
the  selectman's  efforts  at  town-report  composition,  "Do  you 
write  poetry,  sir  ?" 

"Not  by  a— by  a — "  gasped  the  Cap'n,  seeking  ineffect 
ually  for  some  phrase  to  express  his  ineffable  disgust. 

"I  was  in  hopes  you  did,"  continued  Mr.  Crymble,  "for 
I  would  like  a  little  help  in  finishing  my  epitaph.  I  com 
pose  slowly.  I  have  worked  several  years  on  this  epitaph, 
but  I  haven't  finished  it  to  suit  me.  What  I  have  got  done 
reads": 

He  unfolded  a  dirty  strip  of  paper  and  recited: 

"There  is  no  sting  in  death; 
Below  this  stone  there  lies 
A  man  who  lost  his  mortal  breath 
Three  times — 

Mr.  Crymble  looked  up  from  the  paper. 

"I  have  thought  of  'And  death  defies.'  But  that  might 
sound  like  boasting." 

"End  it  up,  'And  still  he  lies,'"  growled  Cap'n  Sproul. 
But  the  thin  man  meekly  evaded  the  sarcasm. 

"That  would  be  a  repetition  of  the  rhyme,"  he  objected. 

305 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"I  see  you  were  right  when  you  said  you  did  not  write 
poetry." 

"P'r'aps  I  ain't  no  poet,"  cried  the  Cap'n,  bridling. 
"But  I'm  the  first  selectman  of  this  town,  and  I've  got  con 
siderable  to  do  with  runnin'  it  and  keepin'  things  straight 
ened  out.  You  may  be  dead,  but  you  ain't  buried  yet.  I've 
got  two  errunts  for  you.  You  go  hunt  up  Bat  Reeves  and 
tell  him  that  the  weddin'  next  Tuesday  is  all  off,  and  for  good 
reasons — and  that  you're  one  of  the  reasons,  and  that  there 
are  nine  others  just  as  good  but  which  you  haven't  got  time 
to  repeat.  Then  you  go  home  to  your  wife  and  settle  down, 
throw  away  that  coffin-plate,  tear  up  that  epitaph,  and  stop 
this  dyin'  habit.  It's  a  bad  one  to  get  into." 

"I  won't  do  any  such  thing,"  returned  the  prodigal,  stub 
bornly.  "I  lived  fifteen  years  with  a  woman  that  wouldn't 
let  me  smoke,  busted  my  cider  jug  in  the  cellar,  jawed  me 
from  sun-up  till  bedtime,  hid  my  best  clothes  away  from  me 
like  I  was  ten  years  old,  wouldn't  let  me  pipe  water  from  the 
spring,  and  stuck  a  jeroosly  water-pail  under  my  nose  every 
time  I  showed  in  sight  of  the  house.  I  haven't  died  three 
times,  all  by  violent  means,  not  to  stay  dead  so  far's  she's 
concerned.  Now  you  tell  me  where  to  get  the  key  to  that 
school-house  and  I'll  move  in." 

For  the  first  time  in  their  conversation  Mr.  Crymble 
dropped  his  meek  manner.  His  little  eyes  blazed.  His 
drooping  mouth  snarled  and  his  yellow  teeth  showed  de 
fiantly.  Cap'n  Sproul  always  welcomed  defiance.  It  was 
the  thin  man's  passive  resignation  at  the  beginning  of  their 
acquaintance  that  caused  the  Cap'n  to  poke  the  ash-stick 
back  under  the  stove.  Now  he  buttoned  his  pea-jacket, 
pulled  his  hat  down  firmly,  and  spat  first  into  one  fist  and 
then  the  other. 

306 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"You  can  walk,  Crymble,  if  you're  a  mind  to  and  will  go 
quiet,"  he  announced,  measuring  the  other's  gaunt  frame 
with  contemptuous  eye.  "I'd  rather  for  your  sake  that  the 
citizens  would  see  you  walkin'  up  there  like  a  man.  But  if 
you  won't  walk,  then  I'll  pick  you  up  and  stick  you  behind 
my  ear  like  a  lead-pencil  and  take  you  there." 

"Where?" 

"To  your  house.  Where  else  should  a  husband  be  goin' 
that's  been  gallivantin'  off  for  twenty  years  ?" 

And  detecting  further  recalcitrancy  in  the  face  of  his 
visitor,  he  pounced  on  him,  scrabbled  up  a  handful  of  cloth 
in  the  back  of  his  coat,  and  propelled  him  out  of  doors  and 
up  the  street.  After  a  few  protesting  squawks  Mr.  Crymble 
went  along. 

An  interested  group  of  men,  who  had  bolted  out  of  Broad 
way's  store,  surveyed  them  as  they  passed  at  a  brisk  pace. 

"By  the  sacred  codfish!"  bawled  Broadway,  "if  that  ain't 
Dep  Crymble!  How  be  ye,  Dep  ?" 

Mr.  Crymble  lacked  either  breath  or  amiability.  He  did 
not  reply  to  the  friendly  greeting.  Cap'n  Sproul  did  that 
for  him  enigmatically.  "He's  back  from  paradise  on  his 
third  furlough,"  he  cried. 

"And  bound  to  hell,"  mourned  Mr.  Crymble,  stumbling 
along  before  the  thrust  of  the  fist  at  his  back. 
21 


XXVI 

HE  Crymble  place  was  a  full  half  mile  outside 
the  village  of  Smyrna,  but  Cap'n  Sproul  and 
his  victim  covered   the  distance   at  a   lively 
pace  and  swung  into  the  yard  at  a  dog-trot. 
Batson  Reeves  was  just  blanketing  his  horse, 
for  in  his  vigorous  courtship  forenoon  calls  figured  regularly. 
"My  Gawd!"  he  gulped,  fronting  the  Cap'n  and  staring 
at  his  captive  with  popping  eyes,  "I  knowed  ye  had  a  tur- 
rible  grudge  agin'  me,  Sproul,  but  I  didn't  s'pose  you'd  go 
to  op'nin'  graves  to  carry  out  your  spite  and  bust  my  plans." 
"He  didn't  happen  to  be  anchored,"  retorted  the  Cap'n, 
with  cutting  reference  to  the  granite  statue   in  Smyrna's 
cemetery.     "Ahoy,  the  house,  there!" 

Mrs.  Crymble  had  been  hastening  to  the  door,  the  sound 
of  her  suitor's  wagon-wheels  summoning  her.  A  glimpse  of 
the  tall  figure  in  the  yard,  secured  past  the  leaves  of  the 
window  geraniums,  brought  her  out  on  the  run. 

Mrs.  Delora  Crymble,  whose  natural  stock  of  self-reliance 
had  been  largely  improved  by  twenty  years  of  grass-widow 
hood,  was  not  easily  unnerved. 

But  she  staggered  when  searching  scrutiny  confirmed  the 
dreadful  suspicion  of  that  first  glimpse  through  the  gerani 
ums.  For  precaution's  sake  Cap'n  Sproul  still  held  Mr. 
Crymble  by  the  scrabbled  cloth  in  the  back  of  his  coat,  and 
that  despairing  individual  dangled  like  a  manikin.  But  he 

308 


braced  his  thin  legs  stubbornly  when  the  Cap'n  tried  to  push 
him  toward  the  porch. 

"If  married  couples  are  goin'  to  act  like  this  on  judgment 
mornin',"  muttered  the  mediator,  "it  will  .kind  o'  take  the 
edge  off'm  the  festivities.  Say,  you  two  people,  why  don't 
you  hoorah  a  few  times  and  rush  up  and  hug  and  kiss  and 
live  happy  ever  after  ?" 

But  as  soon  as  Mrs.  Crymble  could  get  her  thin  lips  nipped 
together  and  her  hands  on  her  hips  she  pulled  herself  into 
her  accustomed  self-reliant  poise. 

"It's  you,  is  it,  you  straddled-legged,  whittle  d-to-a- 
pick-ed  northin'  of  a  clothes-pin,  you  ?  You've  sneaked 
back  to  sponge  on  me  in  your  old  age  after  runnin'  off  and 
leavin'  me  with  a  run-down  farm  and  mortgidge!  After 
sendin'  me  a  marked  copy  of  a  paper  with  your  death-notice, 
and  after  your  will  was  executed  on  and  I  wore  mournin' 
two  years  and  saved  money  out  of  hen  profits  to  set  a  stun' 
in  the  graveyard  for  you!  You  mis'sable,  lyin'  whelp  o' 
Satan!" 

"There  wa'n't  no  lie  to  it,"  said  Mr.  Crymble,  doggedly. 
"I  did  die.  I  died  three  times — all  by  violent  means. 
First  time  I  froze  to  death,  second — 

"Let  up  on  that!"  growled  the  Cap'n,  vigorously  shaking 
Mr.  Crymble.  "This  ain't  no  dime-novel  rehearsal.  It's 
time  to  talk  business!" 

"You  bet  it's  time  to  talk  business!"  affirmed  the  "wid 
ow."  "I've  paid  off  the  mortgidge  on  this  place  by  hard, 
bone  labor,  and  it's  willed  to  me  and  the  will's  executed,  and 
now  that  you've  been  proved  dead  by  law,  by  swanny  I'll 
make  you  prove  you're  alive  by  law  before  you  can  set  foot 
into  this  house." 

"And  I'll  go  and  buy  the  law  for  you!"  cried  Batson 

3°9 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Reeves,  stripping  the  blanket  off  his  horse.  "I'll  drive 
straight  to  my  brother  Alcander's  law  office,  and  he'll  find 
law  so  that  a  hard-workin'  woman  can't  be  robbed  of  her 
own." 

"Oh,  he'll  find  it,  all  right!"  agreed  the  Cap'n,  sarcastic 
ally.  "And  if  he  don't  find  it  ready-made  he'll  gum  to 
gether  a  hunk  to  fit  the  case.  But  in  the  mean  time,  here's  a 
man — "  he  checked  himself  and  swung  Mr.  Crymble's 
hatchet  face  close  to  his  own.  "How  much  money  have  you 
got  ?"  he  demanded.  "Have  you  come  back  here  strapped  ?" 

"I  ain't  got  any  money,"  admitted  Mr.  Crymble,  "but  I 
own  a  secret  how  to  cure  stutterin'  in  ten  lessons,  and  with 
that  school-house  that — " 

' '  You  don't  dock  in  any  school-house  nor  you  don't  marine 
railway  into  our  poorhouse,  not  to  be  a  bill  of  expense  whilst 
I'm  first  selectman,"  broke  in  Cap'n  Sproul  with  decision. 
"That's  official,  and  I've  got  a  license  to  say  it." 

"You  think  you've  got  a  license  to  stick  your  nose  into  the 
business  of  every  one  in  this  town  because  you're  first  select 
man,"  roared  Reeves,  whipping  out  of  the  yard;  "but  I'll 
get  a  pair  of  nippers  onto  that  old  nose  this  time." 

"Here's  your  home  till  further  orders,"  said  the  Cap'n, 
disregarding  the  threat,  "and  into  it  you're  goin'." 

He  started  Mr.  Crymble  toward  the  steps. 

Mrs.  Crymble  was  pretty  quick  with  the  door,  but  Cap'n 
Sproul  was  at  the  threshold  just  in  time  to  shove  the  broad 
toe  of  his  boot  between  door  and  jamb.  His  elbows  and 
shoulders  did  the  rest,  and  he  backed  in,  dragging  Mr.  Crym 
ble,  and  paid  no  attention  whatever  to  a  half-dozen  vigorous 
cuffs  that  Mrs.  Crymble  dealt  him  from  behind.  He 
doubled  Mr.  Crymble  unceremoniously  into  a  calico-covered 
rocking-chair,  whipped  off  the  hard  hat  and  hung  it  up,  and 

310 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

took  from  Mr.  Crymble's  resisting  hands  the  little  valrse 
that  he  had  clung  to  with  grim  resolution. 

"Now,"  said  Cap'n  Sproul,  "you  are  back  once  more  in 
your  happy  home  after  wanderin's  in  strange  lands.  As 
first  selectman  of  this  town  I  congratulate  you  on  gettin' 
home,  and  extend  the  compliments  of  the  season."  He 
briskly  shook  Mr.  Crymble's  limp  hand — a  palm  as  unre 
sponsive  as  the  tail  of  a  dead  fish.  "Now,"  continued  the 
Cap'n,  dropping  his  assumed  geniality,  "you  stay  here  where 
I've  put  you.  If  I  catch  you  off'm  these  primises  I'll  bat 
your  old  ears  and  have  you  arrested  for  a  tramp.  You  ain't 
northin'  else,  when  it  comes  to  law.  I'm  a  hard  man  when 
I'm  madded,  Crymble,  and  if  I  start  in  to  keelhaul  you  for 
disobeyin'  orders  you'll — "  The  Cap'n  did  not  complete 
the  sentence,  but  he  bent  such  a  look  on  the  man  in  the  chair 
that  he  trembled  through  all  his  frail  length. 

"I  wisht  I  could  have  stayed  dead,"  whimpered  Mr. 
Crymble,  thoroughly  spirit-broken. 

"It  might  have  been  better  all  around,"  agreed  the  Cap'n, 
cheerfully.  "But  I  ain't  no  undertaker.  I'm  a  town  offi 
cial,  sworn  to  see  that  paupers  ain't  poked  off  onto  the  tax 
payers.  And  if  you  want  to  keep  out  of  some  pretty  serious 
legal  trouble,  Mis'  Crymble,  you'll  mind  your  p's  and  q's — 
and  you  know  what  I  mean!" 

Feeling  a  little  ignorant  of  just  what  the  law  was  in  the 
case,  Cap'n  Sproul  chose  to  make  his  directions  vague  and 
his  facial  expression  unmistakable,  and  he  backed  out,  bend 
ing  impartial  and  baleful  stare  on  the  miserable  couple. 

When  he  got  back  to  the  town  office  he  pen-printed  a  sign, 
"  Keep  Out,"  tacked  it  upon  the  outer  door,  set  the  end  of 
his  long  table  against  the  door  for  a  barricade,  and  fell  to 
undisturbed  work  on  the  figures.  And  having  made  such 

3" 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

progress  during  the  day  that  his  mind  was  free  for  other 
matters  in  the  evening,  he  trudged  over  to  Neighbor  Hiram 
Look's  to  smoke  with  the  ex-showman  and  detail  to  that 
wondering  listener  the  astonishing  death-claims  of  the  re 
turned  Mr.  Crymble. 

"Grampy  Long-legs,  there,  may  think  he's  dead  and  may 
say  he's  dead,"  remarked  Hiram,  grimly,  "  but  it  looks  to  me 
as  though  Bat  Reeves  was  the  dead  one  in  this  case.  He's 
lost  the  widder." 

Cap'n  Sproul  turned  luminous  gaze  of  full  appreciation  on 
his  friend. 

"Hiram,"  he  said,  "we've  broke  up  a  good  many  court 
ships  for  Reeves,  you  and  me  have,  but,  speakin'  frankly, 
I'd  have  liked  to  see  him  get  that  Crymble  woman.  If  she 
ain't  blood  kin  to  the  general  manager  of  Tophet,  then  I'm 
all  off  in  pedigree.  I  don't  blame  Crymble  for  dyin'  three 
times  to  make  sure  that  she  was  a  widder.  If  it  wasn't  for 
administerin'  town  business  right  I'd  have  got  him  a  spider- 
web  and  let  him  sail  away  on  it.  As  it  is,  I  reckon  I've 
scared  him  about  twenty-four  hours'  worth.  He'll  stick 
there  in  torment  for  near  that  time.  But  about  noon  to 
morrow  he'll  get  away  unless  I  scare  him  again  or  ball-and- 
chain  him  with  a  thread  and  a  buckshot." 

"I'm  interested  in  freaks,"  said  Hiram,  "and  I'll  take 
this  case  off  your  hands  and  see  that  the  livin'  skeleton  don't 
get  away  until  we  decide  to  bury  him  or  put  him  in  a  show 
where  he  can  earn  an  honest  livin'.  Skeletons  ain't  what 
they  used  to  be  for  a  drawin'-card,  but  I  know  of  two  or 
three  punkin  circuiters  that  might  take  him  on." 

In  view  of  that  still  looming  incubus  of  the  unfinished  town 
report,  Cap'n  Sproul  accepted  Hiram's  offer  with  alacrity. 

"It  ain't  that  I  care  so  much  about  the  critter  himself," 

312 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

he  confided,  "but  Bat  Reeves  has  got  his  oar  in  the  case,  and 
by  to-morrow  the  whole  town  will  be  watchin'  to  see  which 
gets  the  upper  hands." 

"I'll  camp  there,"  promised  Hiram,  "and  I  don't  reckon 
they  can  do  old  dead-and-alive  to  any  great  extent  whilst 
I've  got  my  eye  on  'em." 

Cap'n  Sproul  barricaded  his  door  again  the  next  day  and 
disregarded  ordinary  summons  at  the  portal.  But  along 
in  the  afternoon  came  one  who,  after  knocking  vainly,  began 
to  batter  with  fists  and  feet,  and  when  the  first  selectman 
finally  tore  open  the  door  with  full  determination  to  kick 
this  persistent  disturber  off  the  steps,  he  found  Hiram  Look 
there.  And  Hiram  Look  came  in  and  thumped  himself  into 
a  chair  with  no  very  clearly  defined  look  of  triumph  on  his 
face. 

"He  ain't  dead  again,  is  he?"  demanded  Cap'n  Sproul, 
apprehensively. 

"No,  he  ain't,  and  that's  where  he  loses,"  replied  the  old 
showman.  He  chafed  his  blue  nose  and  thumped  his  feet 
on  the  floor  to  warm  them.  It  was  plain  that  he  had  been 
long  exposed  to  the  December  wind. 

"Law,"  announced  Hiram,  "has  got  more  wrinkles  in  it 
than  there  are  in  a  fake  mermaid's  tail.  Do  you  know  what 
kind  of  a  game  they've  gone  to  work  and  rigged  up  on  your 
friend,  the  human  curling-tongs  ?  The  widder  has  got  him 
to  doin'  chores  again.  It  seems  that  she  was  always  strong 
on  keepin'  him  doin'  chores.  He's  peckin'  away  at  that  pile 
of  wood  that's  fitted  and  lays  at  the  corner  of  the  barn.  He's 
luggin'  it  into  the  woodshed,  and  three  sticks  at  a  time  make 
his  legs  bend  like  corset  whalebones.  Looks  like  he's  got  a 
good  stiddy  job  for  all  winter — and  every  once  in  a  while  she 
comes  out  and  yaps  at  him  to  prod  him  up." 

3*3 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"Well,  that  gets  him  taken  care  of,  all  right,"  said  the 
Cap'n,  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"Yes,  he's  taken  care  of,"  remarked  Hiram,  dryly.  "But 
you  don't  understand  the  thing  yet,  Cap'n.  On  top  of  that 
woodpile  sets  Bat  Reeves,  lappin'  the  end  of  a  lead-pencil 
and  markin'  down  every  time  old  water-skipper  there  makes 
a  trip." 

"Well,  if  it  amuses  him,  it  takes  care  of  him,  too,"  said 
the  Cap'n. 

"Looks  innercent,  childlike,  and  sociable,  hey?"  inquired 
the  showman,  sarcastically.  "Well,  you  just  listen  to  what 
I've  dug  up  about  that.  Bat  Reeves  has  bought  the  strip  of 
ground  between  the  woodpile  and  the  shed  door  by  some 
kind  of  a  deal  he's  rigged  up  with  the  widder,  and  with  Al- 
cander  Reeves  advisin'  as  counsel.  And  he's  got  a  stake  set 
in  the  middle  of  that  piece  of  ground  and  on  that  stake  is  a 
board  and  on  that  board  is  painted :  'Trespassing  Forbidden 
on  Penalty  of  the  Law.'  And  him  and  that  woman,  by  Al- 
cander  Reeves's  advice,  are  teaming  that  old  cuss  of  a  hus 
band  back  and  forth  acrost  that  strip  and  markin'  down  a 
trespass  offence  every  time  he  lugs  an  armful  of  wood." 

The  Cap'n  blinked  his  growing  amazement. 

"And  the  scheme  is,"  continued  Hiram,  "to  have  old  law 
shark  of  an  Alcander,  as  trial  justice,  sentence  the  livin' 
skeleton  on  each  separate  trespass  offence,  fine  and  imprison 
ment  in  default  of  payment.  Why,  they've  got  enough 
chalked  down  against  him  now  to  make  up  a  hundred  years' 
sentence,  and  he's  travellin'  back  and  forth  there  as  inner- 
cent  of  what  they're  tryin'  to  do  as  is  the  babe  unborn." 

"Can  they  do  any  such  infernal  thing  as  that  in  law  ?"  de 
manded  the  Cap'n. 

"Blamed  if  I  know.     But  I  never  see  northin'  yet  they 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

couldn't  do  in  law,  if  they  see  you  comin'  and  got  the  bind 
on  you." 

"Law!"  roared  Cap'n  Sproul,  clacking  his  hard  fist  on  the 
table  rim.  "Law  will  tie  more  knots  in  a  man's  business 
than  a  whale  can  tie  in  a  harpoon-line.  There  ain't  no  jus 
tice  in  it — only  pickin's  and  stealin's.  Why,  I  had  a  mate 
once  that  was  downed  on  T  wharf  in  Bos'n  and  robbed,  and 
they  caught  the  men,  and  the  mate  couldn't  give  witness 
bonds  and  they  locked  him  up  with  'em,  and  the  men  got 
away  one  night  and  wa'n't  ever  caught,  and  the  result  was 
the  mate  served  a  jail  sentence  before  they  got  his  bonds 
matter  fixed.  It  was  just  the  same  as  a  jail  sentence.  He 
had  to  stay  there." 

Hiram  was  fully  as  doleful  in  regard  to  the  possibilities  of 
the  law. 

"Once  they  get  old  Soup-bone  behind  bars  on  them  tres 
pass  cases,"  he  said, "he'll  stay  there, all  right.  They'll  fix 
it  somehow — you  needn't  worry.  I  reckon  they'll  be  ar- 
restin'  him  any  minute  now.  They've  got  cases  enough 
marked  down." 

"We'll  see  about  that,"  snapped  the  Cap'n. 

He  buttoned  his  jacket  and  hurried  into  Hiram's  team, 
which  was  at  the  door.  And  with  Hiram  as  charioteer  they 
made  time  toward  the  Crymble  place.  Just  out  of  the  vil 
lage  they  swept  past  Constable  Zeburee  Nute,  whose  slower 
Dobbin  respectfully  took  the  side  of  the  highway. 

"Bet  ye  money  to  mushmelons,"  mumbled  Hiram  as  they 
passed,  "he's  got  a  warrant  from  old  Alcander  and  is  on  his 
way  to  arrest." 

"I  know  he  is,"  affirmed  the  Cap'n.  "Every  time  he 
sticks  that  old  tin  badge  on  the  outside  of  his  coat  he's  on  the 
war-path.  Whip  up,  Hiram!" 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

From  afar  they  spied  the  tall  figure  of  Dependence  Crynv 
ble  passing  wraithlike  to  and  fro  across  the  yard. 

"Thirty  days  per  sashay!"  grunted  Hiram.  "That's  the 
way  they  figger  it." 

Batson  Reeves  would  have  scrambled  down  from  the  top 
of  the  woodpile  when  he  saw  Cap'n  Sproul  halt  Crymble 
in  his  weary  labor  and  draw  him  to  one  side.  But  Hiram 
suggested  to  Mr.  Reeves  that  he  better  stay  up,  and  empha 
sized  the  suggestion  by  clutching  a  stick  of  stove-wood  in 
each  hand. 

"Crymble,"  huskily  whispered  the  Cap'n,  "I  put  ye  here 
out  of  a  good  meanin' — meanin'  to  keep  ye  out  of  trouble. 
But  I'm  afraid  I've  got  ye  into  it." 

"I  told  ye  what  she  was  and  all  about  it,"  complained 
Mr.  Crymble,  bitterly. 

"It  ain't  'she,'  it's — it's —  The  Cap'n  saw  the  bobbing 
head  of  Nute's  Dobbin  heaving  into  sight  around  distant 
alders.  "All  is,  you  needn't  stay  where  I  put  ye." 

Mr.  Crymble  promptly  dropped  the  three  sticks  of  wood 
that  he  was  carrying. 

"But  I  don't  want  you  to  get  too  far  off  till  I  think  this 
thing  over  a  little,"  resumed  the  Cap'n.  "There  ain't  no 
time  now.  You  ought  to  know  this  old  farm  of  your'n 
pretty  well.  You  just  go  find  a  hole  and  crawl  into  it  for  a 
while." 

"I'll  do  it,"  declared  Mr.  Crymble,  with  alacrity.  "I 
knew  you'd  find  her  out.  Now  that  you're  with  me,  I'm 
with  you.  I'll  hide.  You  fix  'em.  'Tend  to  her  first." 
He  grabbed  the  Cap'n  by  the  arm.  "There's  a  secret  about 
that  barnyard  that  no  one  knows  but  me.  Blind  his  eyes!" 

He  pointed  to  Mr.  Reeves.  There  was  no  time  to  delve 
into  Mr.  Crymble's  motives  just  then.  There  was  just  time 

316 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

to  act.  The  blank  wall  of  the  ell  shut  off  Mrs.  Crymble's 
view  of  the  scene.  Constable  Nute  was  still  well  down  the 
road.  There  was  only  the  basilisk  Mr.  Reeves  on  the  wood 
pile.  Cap'n  Sproul  grabbed  up  a  quilt  spread  to  air  behind 
the  ell,  and  with  a  word  to  Hiram  as  he  passed  him  he 
scrambled  up  the  heap  of  wood.  Hiram  followed,  and  the 
next  moment  they  had  hoodwinked  the  amazed  Mr.  Reeves 
and  held  him  bagged  securely  in  the  quilt. 

The  Cap'n,  with  chin  over  his  shoulder,  saw  Mr.  Crymble 
scuff  aside  some  frozen  dirt  in  a  corner  of  the  barnyard, 
raise  a  plank  with  his  bony  fingers  and  insert  his  slender 
figure  into  the  crevice  disclosed,  with  all  the  suppleness  of  a 
snake.  The  plank  dropped  over  his  head,  and  his  hiding- 
place  was  hidden.  But  while  he  and  Hiram  stood  looking 
at  the  place  where  Mr.  Crymble  had  disappeared,  there 
sounded  a  muffled  squawk  from  the  depths,  there  was  the 
dull  rumble  of  rocks,  an  inward  crumbling  of  earth  where 
the  planks  were,  a  puff  of  dust,  and  stillness. 

"Gawd  A'mighty!"  blurted  Hiram,  aghast,  "a  dry  well's 
caved  in  on  him." 

"I  told  him  to  find  a  hole  and  crawl  into  it,"  quavered  the 
Cap'n,  fiddling  trembling  finger  under  his  nose, "  but  I  didn't 
tell  him  to  pull  the  hole  in  after  him." 

Mr.  Reeves,  left  free  to  extricate  himself  from  the  quilt, 
bellowed  to  Mrs.  Crymble  and  addressed  the  astonished 
Nute,  who  just  then  swung  into  the  yard. 

"They  murdered  that  man,  and  I  see  'em  do  it!"  he 
squalled,  and  added,  irrelevantly,  "they  covered  my  head  up 
so  I  couldn't  see  'em  do  it." 

Mrs.  Crymble,  who  had  been  dignifiedly  keeping  the 
castle  till  the  arrival  of  the  constable,  swooped  upon  the 
scene  with  hawk-like  swiftness. 

31? 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"This  day's  work  will  cost  you  a  pretty  penny,  Messers 
Look  and  Sproul,"  she  shrilled.  "Killin'  a  woman's  hus 
band  ain't  to  be  settled  with  salve,  a  sorry,  and  a  dollar  bill, 
Messers  Sproul  and  Look." 

"I  reckon  we're  messers,  all  right,"  murmured  the  Cap'n, 
gazing  gloomily  on  the  scene  of  the  involuntary  entombment 
of  the  three-times-dead  Crymble.  "I  couldn't  prove  that  he 
was  ever  dead  in  his  life,  but  there's  one  thing  I've  seen  with 
my  own  eyes.  He  acted  as  his  own  sexton,  and  that's  almost 
as  unbelievable  as  a  man's  comin'  back  to  life  again." 

"I  ain't  lookin'  for  him  to  come  back  this  last  time,"  re 
marked  Hiram,  with  much  conviction;  "unless  there's  an 
inch  drain-pipe  there  and  he  comes  up  it  like  an  angleworm. 
Looks  from  this  side  of  the  surface  as  though  death,  funeral 
service,  interment,  and  mournin'  was  all  over  in  record  time 
and  without  music  or  flowers." 

Batson  Reeves  brought  the  crowd. 

It  was  plainly  one  of  the  opportunities  of  his  life. 

The  word  that  he  circulated,  as  he  rattled  down  to  Broad 
way's  store  and  back,  was  that  Cap'n  Sproul  and  Hiram 
Look  had  attacked  him  with  murderous  intent,  and  that  after 
he  had  bravely  fought  them  off  they  had  wantonly  grabbed 
Mr.  Dependence  Crymble,  jabbed  him  down  a  hole  in  the 
ground  and  kicked  the  hole  in  on  him. 

"I've  always  vowed  and  declared  they  was  both  luna 
tics,"  cried  the  returning  Mr.  Reeves.  He  darted  accusa 
tory  finger  at  the  disconsolate  pair  where  they  stood  gazing 
down  upon  the  place  of  Crymble's  sepulture.  "They  was 
hatchin'  a  plot  and  I  busted  it,  and  now  this  is  what  they've 
done  for  revenge.  And  I'll  leave  it  to  Mis'  Crymble  her 
self,  who  stands  there  and  who  saw  it  all." 

Mrs.  Crymble  was  in  a  state  of  mind  to  take  the  cue 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

promptly,  and  affirmed  the  charge  with  an  inspirational 
wealth  of  detail  and  a  ferocity  of  shrill  accusation  that  took 
effect  on  the  crowd  in  spite  of  the  lack  of  logic.  In  mo 
ments  of  excitement  crowds  are  not  discriminating.  The 
Cap'n  and  Hiram  gazed  with  some  uneasiness  on  the  lower 
ing  faces. 

"They  beat  his  brains  out,  gents,"  she  screamed — "beat 
the  brains  out  of  the  husband  that  had  just  come  home  to 
me  after  roamin'  the  wide  world  over.  Hang  'em,  I  say! 
And  I'll  soap  the  clothes-line  if  you'll  do  it!" 

"Ain't  she  a  hell-cat,  though!"  muttered  Hiram. 

"When  I  think  of  what  I  was  tryin'  to  make  that  poor 
critter  do,"  said  Cap'n  Sproul,  absent-mindedly  kicking  a 
loosened  clod  into  the  hole,  "I'm  ashamed  of  myself.  I 
reckon  he's  better  off  down  there  than  up  here.  I  don't  wish 
him  back." 

"If  accused  wish  to  say  anything  in  their  own  defence  it 
will  be  heard,"  declaimed  Squire  Alcander,  advancing  from 
the  gathering  throng.  "Otherwise,  Constable  Nute  will — 

"Constable  Nute  will  keep  his  distance  from  me,"  roared 
Cap'n  Sproul,  "or  he'll  get  his  everlastin'  come-uppance.  I 
can  stand  a  certain  amount  of  dum  foolishness,  and  I  serve 
notice  that  I've  had  full  amount  served  out.  Now  you 
loafers  standin'  round  gawpin,  you  grab  anything  that  will 
scoop  dirt  and  get  to  work  diggin'  here." 

"  I  don't  propose  to  have  no  bill  of  expense  run  up  on  me," 
announced  Mrs.  Crymble.  "I've  paid  out  for  him  all  I'm 
goin'  to,  and  I  got  done  long  ago." 

"Bereaved  and  lovin'  widder  heard,  neighbors  and 
friends,"  said  the  Cap'n,  significantly.  "Now  go  ahead, 
people,  and  believe  what  she  says  about  us,  if  you  want  to! 
Get  to  work  here." 

319 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"You  sha'n't  stir  a  shovelful  of  that  dirt,"  declared  Mrs. 
Crymble.  "You'll  claim  day's  wages,  every  one  of  you." 

"Wages  is  cheaper  in  Chiny,"  said  the  Cap'n  satirically, 
"You  can  cable  round  and  have  him  dug  out  from  that  side 
if  you  want  to.  But  I'm  tellin'  you  right  here  and  now  that 
he's  goin'  to  be  dug  out  from  one  side  or  the  other." 

"He's  dead  and  he's  buried,  ain't  he  r"  demanded  Reeves, 
rallying  to  the  support  of  the  widow.  "What  more  is  there 
to  do  .?" 

"Go  down  to  the  graveyard  and  get  that  stone  of  his  and 
set  it  here,"  replied  Cap'n  Sproul,  with  bitter  sarcasm.  "Go 
somewhere  to  get  out  of  my  way  here,  for  if  you  or  any  other 
human  polecat,  male  or  female" — he  directed  withering 
glance  at  Mrs.  Crymble — "gets  in  my  way  whilst  I'm  doin' 
what's  to  be  done,  if  we  ain't  heathen,  I'll  split  'em  down 
with  this  barn  shovel."  He  had  secured  the  implement  and 
tossed  out  the  first  shovelful. 

There  were  plenty  of  willing  volunteers.  They  paid  no 
attention  to  the  widow's  reproaches.  All  who  could,  toiled 
with  shovels.  Others  lifted  the  dirt  in  buckets.  At  the  end 
of  half  an  hour  Cap'n  Sproul,  who  was  deepest  in  the  hole, 
uttered  a  sharp  exclamation. 

"By  the  mud-hoofed  mackinaw!"  he  shouted,  waving  his 
shovel  to  command  silence,  "if  he  ain't  alive  again  after  bein' 
killed  the  fourth  time!" 

Below  there  was  a  muffled  "tunk-tunk-tunk!"  It  was 
plainly  the  sound  of  two  rocks  clacking  together.  It  was 
appealing  signal. 

Ten  minutes  later,  furious  digging  brought  the  rescuers  to 
a  flat  rock,  part  of  the  stoning  of  the  caved-in  well.  In  its 
fall  it  had  lodged  upon  soil  and  rocks,  and  when  it  was  raised, 
gingerly  and  slowly,  they  found  that,  below  in  the  cavern  it 

320 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

had  preserved,  there  sat  Mr.  Crymble,  up  to  his  shoulders 
in  dirt. 

"If  some  gent  will  kindly  pass  me  a  chaw  of  tobacker," 
he  said,  wistfully,  "it  will  kind  of  keep  up  my  strength  and 
courage  till  the  rest  of  me  is  dug  up." 

When  he  had  been  lifted  at  last  to  the  edge  of  the  well  he 
turned  dull  eyes  of  resentment  on  Mrs.  Crymble. 

"I  wish  there'd  been  a  hole  clear  through  to  the  Sandwich 
Isle  or  any  other  heathen  country,"  he  said,  sourly.  "I'd 
have  crawled  there  through  lakes  of  fire  and  seas  of  blood." 

She  lifted  her  voice  to  vituperate,  but  his  last  clinch  with 
death  seemed  to  have  given  Mr.  Crymble  a  new  sense  of 
power  and  self-reliance.  He  hopped  up,  gathered  a  hand 
ful  of  rocks  and  made  at  his  Xantippe.  His  aim  was  not  too 
good  and  he  did  not  hit  her,  but  he  stood  for  several  minutes 
and  soulfully  bombarded  the  door  that  she  slammed  behind 
her  in  her  flight. 

Then  he  came  back  and  gathered  more  rocks  from  the 
scene  of  his  recent  burial.  He  propped  his  thin  legs  apart, 
brandished  a  sizable  missile,  and  squalled  defiance. 

"I've  just  died  for  the  fourth  time — killed  by  a  well  cavin* 
in  on  me.  There  ain't  no  hell  where  I've  been.  And  if 
there's  any  man  here  that  thinks  he  can  shove  me  back  into 
this  hell  on  earth " — he  shook  his  fist  at  the  house  and 
singled  Cap'n  Sproul  with  flaming  eye — "now  is  the  time 
for  him  to  try  to  do  it." 

"There  ain't  nobody  goin'  to  try  to  do  it,"  said  the  Cap'n, 
coming  up  to  him  with  frankly  outstretched  hand.  He 
patted  the  rocks  gently  from  the  arms  of  the  indignant  Mr. 
Crymble.  "As  a  gen'ral  thing  I  stand  up  for  matrimony 
and  stand  up  for  it  firm — but  I  reckon  I  didn't  understand 
your  case,  Crymble.  I  apologize,  and  we'll  shake  hands  on 

321 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

it.  You  can  have  the  school-house,  and  I'll  do  more'n  that 
— I'll  pay  for  fixin'  it  over.  And  in  the  mean  time  you  come 
up  to  my  house  and  make  me  a  good  long  visit." 

He  shoved  ingratiating  hand  into  the  hook  of  the  other's 
bony  elbow  and  led  him  away. 

"  But  I  want  my  valise,"  pleaded  Mr.  Crymble. 

"You  leave  that  coffin-plate  and  epitaph  with  her,"  said 
the  Cap'n,  firmly.  "You're  in  for  a  good  old  age  and  don't 
need  'em.  And  they  may  cheer  up  Mis'  Crymble  from  time 
to  time.  She  needs  cheerin'  up." 

Hiram  Look,  following  them  out  of  the  yard,  yanked  up 
the  trespass  sign  and  advanced  to  Batson  Reeves  and  bran 
dished  it  over  his  head. 

"Gimme  it!"  he  rasped. 

"What?"  quavered  Reeves. 

"That  paper  I  stood  here  and  watched  you  makin'  up. 
Gimme  it,  or  I'll  peg  you  like  I  peg  tent-pegs  for  the  big 
tent." 

And  Reeves,  having  excellent  ideas  of  discretion,  passed 
over  the  list  of  trespasses.  He  did  not  look  up  at  the  win 
dows  of  the  Crymble  house  as  he  rode  away  with  his  brother, 
the  squire.  And  what  was  significant,  he  took  away  with 
him  the  neck-halter  that,  for  convenience'  sake  on  his  fre 
quent  calls,  he  had  left  hanging  to  the  hitching-post  in  the 
Crymble  yard  for  many  weeks. 


XXVII 

T  last  the  Women's  Temperance  Workers' 
Union  of  Smyrna  became  thoroughly  indig 
nant,  in  addition  to  being  somewhat  mysti 
fied. 

Twice  they  had  "waited  on"  Landlord 
Ferd  Parro.tt,  of  the  Smyrna  tavern — twelve  of  them  in 
a  stern  delegation — and  he  had  simply  blinked  at  them  out 
of  his  puckery  eyes,  and  pawed  nervously  at  his  weazened 
face,  and  had  given  them  no  satisfaction. 

Twice  they  had  marched  bravely  into  the  town  office  and 
had  faced  Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul,  first  selectman,  and  had 
complained  that  Ferd  Parrott  was  running  "a  reg'lar  rum- 
hole."  Cap'n  Sproul  had  nipped  his  bristly  beard  and  gazed 
away  from  them  at  the  ceiling,  and  said  he  would  see  what 
could  be  done  about  it. 

Mrs.  Aaron  Sproul,  a  devoted  member  of  the  W.  T.  W.'s, 
was  appointed  a  committee  of  one  to  sound  him,  and  found 
him,  even  in  the  sweet  privacy  of  home,  so  singularly  em 
barrassed  and  uncommunicative  that  her  affectionate  heart 
was  disturbed  and  grieved. 

Then  came  Constable  Zeburee  Nute  into  the  presence  of 
the  town's  chief  executive  with  a  complaint. 

"They're  gittin'  worse'n  hornicks  round  me,"  he  whined, 
"them    Double-yer  T.    Double-yers.     Want   Ferd's    place 
raided  for  licker.     But  I  understood  you  to  tell  me — " 
22  323 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"I  hain't  told  you  northin'  about  it!"  roared  the  Cap'n, 
with  mighty  clap  of  open  palm  on  the  town  ledger. 

"Well,  you  hain't  give  off  orders  to  raid,  seize  and  dis- 
kiver,  libel  and  destroy,"  complained  the  officer. 

"What  be  you,  a  'tomatom  that  don't  move  till  you  pull 
a  string,  or  be  you  an  officer  that's  supposed  to  know  his  own 
duty  clear,  and  follow  it  ?"  demanded  the  first  selectman. 

"Constables  is  supposed  to  take  orders  from  them  that's 
above  'em,"  declared  Mr.  Nute.  "I'm  lookin'  to  you,  and 
the  Double-yer  T.  Double-yers  is  lookin'  to  you." 

"Well,  if  it's  botherin'  your  eyesight,  you'd  better  look 
t'other  way,"  growled  the  Cap'n. 

"Be  I  goin'  to  raid  or  ain't  I  goin'  to  raid  r"  demanded 
Constable  Nute.  "It's  for  you  to  say!" 

"Look  here,  Nute,"  said  the  Cap'n,  rising  and  aiming  his 
forefinger  at  the  constable's  nose  as  he  would  have  levelled  a 
bulldog  revolver,  "if  you  and  them  wimmen  think  you're 
goin'  to  use  me  as  a  pie-fork  to  lift  hot  dishes  out  of  an  oven 
that  they've  heated,  you'd  better  leave  go — that's  all  I've  got 
to  say." 

"You  might  just  as  well  know  it's  makin'  talk,"  ventured 
the  constable,  taking  a  safer  position  near  the  door.  A 
queer  sort  of  embarrassment  that  he  noted  in  the  Cap'n's 
visage  emboldened  him.  "You  know  just  as  well  as  I  do 
that  Ferd  Parrott  has  gone  and  took  to  sellin'  licker.  Old 
Branscomb  is  goin'  home  tea-ed  up  reg'lar,  and  Al  Leavitt 
and  Pud  Follansby  and  a  half  a  dozen  others  are  settin'  there 
all  times  of  night,  playin'  cards  and  makin'  a  reg'lar  ha'nt 
of  it.  If  Ferd  ain't  shet  up  it  will  be  said" — the  constable 
looked  into  the  snapping  eyes  of  the  first  selectman  and 
halted  apprehensively. 

"It  ain't  that  I  believe  any  such  thing,  Cap'n  Sproul,"  he 

324 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

declared  at  last,  breaking  an  embarrassing  silence.  "But 
here's  them  wimmen  takin'  up  them  San  Francisco  scandals 
to  study  in  their  Current  Events  Club,  and  when  the  officers 
here  don't  act  when  complaint  is  made  about  a  hell-hole 
right  here  in  town,  talk  starts,  and  it  ain't  complimentary 
talk,  either.  Pers'n'ly,  I  feel  like  a  tiger  strainin'  at  his 
chain,  and  I'd  like  orders  to  go  ahead." 

"Tiger,  hey?"  remarked  the  Cap'n,  looking  him  up  and 
down.  "I  knowed  you  reminded  me  of  something,  but  I 
didn't  know  what,  before.  Now,  if  them  wimmen — "  he  be 
gan  with  decision,  but  broke  off  to  stare  through  the  town- 
office  window.  Mr.  Nute  stepped  from  the  door  to  take 
observation,  too. 

Twelve  women  in  single  file  were  picking  their  way  across 
the  mushy  street  piled  with  soft  March  snow. 

"Reckon  the  Double-yer  T.  Double-yers  is  goin'  to  wait 
on  Ferd  ag'in  to  give  him  his  final  come-uppance,"  sug 
gested  the  constable.  "Heard  some  talk  of  it  yistiddy." 

The  Smyrna  tavern  into  which  they  disappeared  was  a 
huge  hulk,  relic  of  the  old  days  when  the  stage-coaches  made 
the  village  their  headquarters.  The  storms  of  years  had 
washed  the  paint  from  it;  it  had  "hogged"  in  the  roof  where 
the  great  square  chimney  projected  its  nicked  bulk  from 
among  loosened  bricks  scattered  on  the  shingles;  and  from 
knife-gnawed  "deacon-seat"  on  the  porch  to  window-blind, 
dangling  from  one  hinge  on  the  broad  gable,  the  old  struct 
ure  was  seedy  indeed. 

"I  kind  of  pity  Ferd,"  mumbled  the  constable,  his  faded 
eyes  on  the  cracked  door  that  the  last  woman  had  slammed 
behind  her.  "Hain't  averaged  to  put  up  one  man  a  week 
for  five  years,  and  I  reckon  he's  had  to  sell  rum  or 
starve," 

325 


THE    SKIPPER    AND    THE    SKIPPED 

Cap'n  Sproul  made  no  observation.  He  still  maintained 
that  air  of  not  caring  to  discuss  the  affairs  of  the  Smyrna 
tavern.  He  stared  at  the  building  as  though  he  rather  ex 
pected  to  see  the  sides  tumble  out  or  the  roof  fly  up,  or  some 
thing  of  the  sort. 

He  did  not  bestow  any  especial  attention  on  his  friend 
Hiram  Look  when  the  ex-circus  man  drove  up  to  the  hitch- 
ing-post  in  front  of  the  town  house  with  a  fine  flourish, 
hitched  and  came  in. 

"Seems  that  your  wife  and  mine  have  gone  temperancin' 
again  to-day  with  the  bunch,"  remarked  Hiram,  relighting 
his  cigar.  "I  don't  know  what  difference  it  makes  whether 
old  Branscomb  and  the  other  soshes  round  here  get  their 
ruin  in  an  express-package  or  help  Ferd  to  a  little  business. 
They're  bound  to  have  it,  anyway." 

"That  ain't  the  p'int,"  protested  Constable  Nute,  stiffly, 
throwing  back  his  coat  to  display  his  badge.  "Ferd  Par- 
rott's  breakin'  the  law,  and  it  hurts  my  feelin's  as  an  officer 
to  hear  town  magnates  and  reprusentative  citizens  glossin' 
it  over  for  him." 

The  Cap'n  stared  at  him  balefully  but  did  not  trust  him 
self  to  retort.  Hiram  was  not  so  cautious.  He  bridled  in 
stantly  and  insolently. 

"There's  always  some  folks  in  this  world  ready  to  stick 
their  noses  into  the  door-crack  of  a  man's  business  when 
they  know  the  man  ain't  got  strength  to  slam  the  door  shut 
on  'em.  Wimmen's  clubs  is  all  right  so  long  as  they  stick 
to  readin'  hist'ry  and  discussin'  tattin',  but  when  they  flock 
like  a  lot  of  old  hen  turkeys  and  go  to  peckin'  a  man  because 
he's  down  and  can't  help  himself,  it  ain't  anything  but  per 
secution — wolves  turnin'  on  another  one  that's  got  his  leg 
broke.  I  know  animiles,  and  I  know  human  critters. 

326 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Them  wimmen  better  be  in  other  business,  and  I  told  my 
wife  so  this  mornin'." 

"So  did  I,"  said  Cap'n  Sproul,  gloomily. 

"And  mine  up  at  me  like  a  settin'  hen." 

"So  did  mine,"  assented  the  Cap'n. 

"Gave  me  a  lecture  on  duties  of  man  to  feller  man." 

"  Jest  the  same  to  my  house." 

"Have  any  idea  who's  been  stuffin'  their  heads  with  them 
notions  ?"  inquired  Hiram,  malevolently. 

"Remember  that  square-cornered  female  with  a  face 
harder'n  the  physog  of  a  wooden  figurehead  that  was  here 
last  winter,  and  took  'em  aloft  and  told  'em  how  to  reef  par- 
li'ment'ry  law,  and  all  such  ?"  asked  the  Cap'n.  "Well,  she 
was  the  one." 

"You  mind  my  word,"  cried  Hiram,  vibrating  his  cigar, 
"when  a  wife  begins  to  take  orders  from  an  old  maid  in 
frosted  specs  instead  of  from  her  own  husband,  then  the 
moths  is  gettin'  ready  to  eat  the  worsted  out  of  the  card 
board  in  the  motto  'God  bless  our  home!' ' 

"Law  is  law,"  broke  in  the  unabashed  representative  of 
it,  "and  if  the  men-folks  of  this  town  ain't  got  the  gumption 
to  stand  behind  an  officer — " 

"Look  here,  Nute,"  gritted  the  Cap'n,  "I'll  stand  behind 
you  in  about  two  seconds,  and  I'll  be  standin'  on  one  foot, 
at  that!  Don't  you  go  to  castin'  slurs  on  your  betters.  Be 
cause  I've  stood  some  talk  from  you  to-day  isn't  any  sign 
that  I'm  goin'  to  stand  any  more." 

Now  the  first  selectman  had  the  old  familiar  glint  in  his 
eyes,  and  Mr.  Nute  sat  down  meekly,  returning  no  answer 
to  the  Cap'n's  sarcastic  inquiry  why  he  wasn't  over  at  the 
tavern  acting  as  convoy  for  the  Temperance  Workers. 

Two  minutes  later  some  one  came  stamping  along  the  cor- 

327 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

ridor  of  the  town  house.     The  office  door  was  ajar,  and  this 
some  one  pushed  it  open  with  his  foot. 

It  was  Landlord  Ferd  Parrott.  In  one  hand  he  carried 
an  old  glazed  valise,  in  the  other  a  canvas  extension-case, 
this  reduplication  of  baggage  indicating  a  serious  intention 
on  the  part  of  Mr.  Parrott  to  travel  far  and  remain  long. 
His  visage  was  sullen  and  the  set  of  his  jaws  was  ugly.  Mr. 
Parrott  had  eyes  that  turned  out  from  his  nose,  and  though 
the  Cap'n  and  Hiram  were  on  opposite  sides  of  the  room  it 
seemed  as  though  his  peculiar  vision  enabled  him  to  fix  an 
eye  on  each  at  the  same  time. 

"I'm  glad  I  found  you  here  both  together,"  he  snarled. 
"I  can  tell  you  both  at  one  whack.  I  ain't  got  northin' 
against  you.  You've  used  me  like  gents.  I  don't  mean  to 
dump  you,  nor  northin'  of  the  sort,  but  there  ain't  anything 
I  can  seem  to  do.  You  take  what  there  is — this  here  is  all 
that  belongs  to  me."  He  shook  the  valises  at  them.  "I'm 
goin'  to  git  out  of  this  God-forsaken  town — I'm  goin'  now, 
and  I'm  goin'  strong,  and  you're  welcome  to  all  I  leave,  just 
as  I  leave  it.  For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I'm  glad  I'm  a 
widderer." 

After  gazing  at  Mr.  Parrott  for  a  little  time  the  Cap'n  and 
Hiram  searched  each  the  other's  face  with  much  interest. 
It  was  apparent  that  perfect  confidence  did  not  exist  between 
them  on  some  matters  that  were  to  the  fore  just  then. 

"Yours,"  said  Mr.  Parrott,  jerking  a  stiff  nod  to  the 
Cap'n,  "is  a  morgidge  on  house  and  stable  and  land 
Yours,"  he  continued,  with  another  nod  at  Hiram,  "is  a  bill 
o'  sale  of  all  the  furniture,  dishes,  liv'ry  critters  and  stable 
outfit.  Take  it  all  and  git  what  you  can  out  of  it." 

"This  ain't  no  way  to  do — skip  out  like  this,"  objected 
Hiram. 

328 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"Well,  it's  my  way,"  replied  Mr.  Parrott,  stubbornly, 
"and,  seein'  that  you've  got  security  and  all  there  is,  I  don't 
believe  you  can  stop  me." 

Mr.  Parrott  dropped  his  valises  and  whacked  his  fists 
together. 

"If  the  citizens  of  this  place  don't  want  a  hotel  they 
needn't  have  a  hotel,"  he  shrilled.  "If  they  want  to  turn 
wimmen  loose  on  me  to  run  me  up  a  tree,  by  hossomy!  I'll 
pull  the  tree  up  after  me." 

"Look  here,  Ferd,"  said  the  Cap'n,  eagerly,  forgetting  for 
the  moment  the  presence  of  Constable  Nute,  "those  wimmen 
might  gabble  a  little  at  you  and  make  threats  and  things 
like  that — but — but — there  isn't  anything  they  can  do,  you 
understand!"  He  winked  at  Mr.  Parrott.  "You  know 
what  I  told  you!" 

But  Mr.  Parrott  was  in  no  way  swayed  or  mollified. 

"They  cant  do  anything,  can't  they?"  he  squealed. 
"They've  been  into  my  house  and  knocked  in  the  head  of 
a  keg  of  Medford  rum,  and  busted  three  demijohns  of 
whiskey,  and  got  old  Branscomb  to  sign  the  pledge,  and 
scared  off  the  rest  of  the  boys.  Now  they're  goin'  to  hire 
a  pung,  and  a  delegation  of  three  is  goin'  to  meet  every  train 
with  badges  on  and  tell  every  arrivin'  guest  that  the  Smyrna 
tavern  is  a  nasty,  wicked  place,  and  old  Aunt  Juliet  Giffbrd 
and  her  two  old-maid  girls  are  goin'  to  put  up  all  parties  at 
half-price.  They  cant  do  anything,  hey!  them  wimmen 
can't  ?  Well,  that's  what  they've  done  to  date — and  if  the 
married  men  of  this  place  can't  keep  their  wives  to  home  and 
their  noses  out  of  my  business,  then  Smyrna  can  get  along 
without  a  tavern.  I'm  done,  I  say.  It's  all  yours."  Mr. 
Parrott  tossed  his  open  palms  toward  them  in  token  of  utter 
surrender,  and  picked  up  his  valises. 

329 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"You  can't  shove  that  off  onto  us  that  way,"  roared 
Hiram. 

"Well,  your  money  is  there,  and  you  can  go  take  it  or 
leave  it,"  retorted  the  desperate  Mr.  Parrott.  "You'd  bet 
ter  git  your  money  where  you  can  git  it,  seein'  that  you  can't 
very  well  git  it  out  of  my  hide."  And  the  retiring  landlord 
of  Smyrna  tavern  stormed  out  and  plodded  away  down  the 
mushy  highway. 

Constable  Nute  gazed  after  him  through  the  window,  and 
then  surveyed  the  first  selectman  and  Hiram  with  fresh  and 
constantly  increasing  interest.  His  tufty  eyebrows  crawled 
like  caterpillars,  indicating  that  the  thoughts  under  them 
must  be  of  a  decidedly  stirring  nature. 

"Huh!  That's  it,  is  it?"  he  muttered,  and  noting  that 
Cap'n  Sproul  seemed  to  be  recovering  his  self-possession,  he 
preferred  not  to  wait  for  the  threats  and  extorted  pledge  that 
his  natural  craftiness  scented.  He  dove  out. 

"Where  be  ye  goin'  to  ?"  demanded  Hiram,  checking  the 
savage  rush  of  the  Cap'n. 

"Catch  him  and  make  him  shet  his  chops  about  this,  if  I 
have  to  spike  his  old  jaws  together." 

"It  ain't  no  use,"  said  Hiram,  gloomily,  setting  his 
shoulders  against  the  door.  "You'd  only  be  makin'  a  show 
and  spectacle  in  front  of  the  wimmen.  And  after  that  they'd 
squat  the  whole  thing  out  of  him,  the  same  as  you'd  squat 
stewed  punkin  through  a  sieve."  He  bored  the  Cap'n  with 
inquiring  eye.  "You  wasn't  tellin'  me  that  you  held  a  mor- 
gidge  on  that  tavern  real  estate."  There  was  reproach  in 
his  tones. 

"No,  and  you  wasn't  tellin'  me  that  you  had  a  bill  of  sale 
of  the  fixin's  and  furniture,"  replied  the  Cap'n  with  acerbity. 
"How  much  did  you  let  him  have  ?" 

330 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"Fifteen  hunderd,"  said  Hiram,  rather  shamefacedly,  but 
he  perked  up  a  bit  when  he  added:  "There's  three  pretty 
fair  hoss-kind." 

"If  there's  anything  about  that  place  that's  spavined  any 
worse'n  them  hosses  it's  the  bedsteads,"  snorted  the  other 
capitalist.  "He's  beat  you  by  five  hundred  dollars.  If  you 
should  pile  that  furniture  in  the  yard  and  hang  up  a  sign, 
'Help  yourself,'  folks  wouldn't  haul  it  off  without  pay  for 
truckin'." 

"Le's  see!"  said  Hiram,  fingering  his  nose,  "was  it  real 
money  or  Confederate  scrip  that  you  let  him  have  on  your 
morgidge  ?" 

"Thutty-five  hunderd  ain't  much  on  the  most  central 
piece  of  real  estate  in  this  village,"  declared  the  Cap'n,  in 
stout  defence. 

"It's  central,  all  right,  but  so  is  the  stomach-ache,"  re 
marked  Hiram,  calmly.  "What  good  is  that  land  when 
there  ain't  been  a  buildin'  built  in  this  town  for  fifteen  years, 
and  no  call  for  any  ?  As  for  the  house,  I'll  bet  ye  a  ten-cent 
cigar  I  can  go  over  there  and  push  it  down — and  I  ain't 
braggin'  of  my  strength  none,  either." 

The  Cap'n  did  not  venture  to  defend  his  investment 
further.  He  stared  despondently  through  the  window  at 
the  seamed  roof  and  weather-worn  walls  that  looked  par 
ticularly  forlorn  and  dilapidated  on  that  gray  March  day. 

"  I  let  him  have  money  on  it  when  the  trees  was  leaved  out, 
and  things  look  different  then,"  he  sighed. 

"And  I  must  have  let  him  have  it  when  I  was  asleep  and 
dreamin'  that  Standard  He  had  died  and  left  his  money  to 
me,"  snorted  the  showman.  "I  ain't  blamin'  you,  Cap,  and 
you  needn't  blame  me,  but  the  size  of  it  is  you  and  me  has 
gone  into  partnership  and  bought  a  tavern,  and  didn't  know 

331 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

it.  If  they  had  let  Parrott  alone  he  might  have  wiggled  out 
of  the  hole  after  a  while." 

"It  ain't  wuth  a  hoorah  in  a  hen-pen  if  it  ain't  run  as  a 
tavern,"  stated  the  Cap'n.  "I  ain't  in  favor  of  rum  nor 
sellin'  rum,  and  I  knew  that  Ferd  was  sellin'  a  little  suthin' 
on  the  sly,  but  he  told  me  he  was  goin'  to  repair  up  and  git 
in  some  summer  boarders,  and  I  was  lettin'  him  work  along. 
There  ain't  much  business  nor  look-ahead  to  wimmen,  is 
there  ?"  he  asked,  sourly. 

"Not  when  they  bunch  themselves  in  a  flock  and  get  to 
squawkin',"  agreed  his  friend. 

"I  don't  know  what  they  are  doin'  over  there  now," 
averred  the  first  selectman,  "but  before  they  set  fire  to  it  or 
tear  the  daylights  out,  and  seein'  as  how  it's  our  property 
accordin'  to  present  outlook,  I  reckon  we'd  better  go  over  and 
put  an  eye  on  things.  They  prob'ly  think  it  belongs  to  Ferd." 

"Not  since  that  bean-pole  with  a  tin  badge  onto  it  got 
acrost  there  with  its  mouth  open,"  affirmed  Hiram,  with  de 
cision,  "and  if  he  ain't  told  'em  that  we  bought  Ferd  out  and 
set  him  up  in  the  rum  business,  he's  lettin'  us  out  easier  than 
I  figger  on." 

The  concerted  glare  of  eyes  that  fairly  assailed  them  when 
they  somewhat  diffidently  ventured  into  the  office  of  the 
tavern  indicated  that  Hiram  was  not  far  off  in  his  "  figgerin'." 
The  embarrassed  self-consciousness  of  Constable  Nute,  star 
ing  at  the  stained  ceiling,  told  much.  The  indignant  eyes 
of  the  women  told  more. 

Mr.  Parrott's  brother  was  a  sea-captain  who  had  sent  him 
"stuffed"  natural-history  curios  from  all  parts  of  the  world, 
and  Mr.  Parrott  had  arranged  a  rather  picturesque  interior. 
Miss  Philamese  Nile,  president  of  the  W.  T.  W.'s,  stood  be 
neath  a  dusty  alligator  that  swung  from  the  ceiling,  and  Cap'n 

332 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Sproul,  glancing  from  one  to  the  other,  confessed  to  himself 
that  he  didn't  know  which  face  looked  the  most  savage. 

She  advanced  on  him,  forefinger  upraised. 

"Before  you  go  to  spreadin'  sail,  marm,"  said  the  Cap'n, 
stoutly,  "you'd  better  be  sure  that  you  ain't  got  holt  of  the 
down-haul  instead  of  the  toppin'-lift." 

"Talk  United  States,  Cap'n  Sproul,"  snapped  Miss  Nile. 
"You've  had  your  money  in  this  pit  of  perdition  here,  you 
and  Hiram  Look,  the  two  of  you.  As  a  town  officer  you've 
let  Ferd  Parrott  run  a  cheap,  nasty  rum-hole,  corruptin'  and 
ruinin'  the  manhood  of  Smyrna,  and  you've  helped  cover 
up  this  devilishness,  though  we,  the  wimmen  of  this  town, 
have  begged  and  implored  on  bended  knee.  Now,  that's 
plain,  straight  Yankee  language,  and  we  want  an  answer  in 
the  same  tongue." 

Neither  the  Cap'n  nor  Hiram  found  any  consolation  at 
that  moment  in  the  countenances  of  their  respective  wives. 
Those  faces  were  very  red,  but  their  owners  looked  away 
resolutely  and  were  plainly  animated  by  a  stern  sense  of 
duty,  bulwarked  as  they  were  by  the  Workers. 

"We've  risen  for  the  honor  of  this  town,"  continued  Miss 
Nile. 

"Well,  stay  up,  then!"  snorted  the  short-tempered  Hiram. 
"Though  as  for  me,  I  never  could  see  anything  very  hand 
some  in  a  hen  tryin'  to  fly." 

"Do  you  hear  that?"  shrilled  Miss  Nile.  "Aren't  you 
proud  of  your  noble  husband,  Mis'  Look  ?  Isn't  he  a  credit 
to  the  home  and  an  ornament  to  his  native  land  ?" 

But  Hiram,  when  indignant,  was  never  abashed. 

"Wimmen,"  said  he,  "has  their  duties  to  perform  and 
their  place  to  fill — all  except  old  maids  that  make  a  specialty 
of  'tending  to  other  folks'  business."  He  bent  a  withering 

333 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

look  on  Miss  Nile.  "Cap'n  Sproul  and  me  ain't  rummies, 
and  you  can't  make  it  out  so,  not  even  if  you  stand  here  and 
talk  till  you  spit  feathers.  We've  had  business  dealin's  with 
Parrott,  and  business  is  business." 

"And  every  grafter  'twixt  here  and  kingdom  come  has  had 
the  same  excuse,"  declared  the  valiant  head  of  the  Workers. 
"Business  or  no  business,  Ferd  Parrott  is  done  runnm'  this 
tavern." 

"There's  a  point  I  reckon  you  and  me  can  agree  on,"  said 
Hiram,  sadly.  He  gazed  out  to  where  the  tracks  of  Mr. 
Parrott  led  away  through  the  slush. 

"And  it's  the  sense  of  the  women  of  this  place  that  such 
a  dirty  old  ranch  sha'n't  disgrace  Smyrna  any  longer." 

"You  mean — 

"I  mean  shut  up  these  doors — nail  'em — and  let  decent 
and  respectable  women  put  up  the  folks  who  pass  this  way — 
put  'em  up  in  a  decent  and  respectable  place.  That's  the 
sense  of  the  women." 

"And  it's  about  as  much  sense  as  wimmen  show  when 
they  get  out  of  their  trodden  path,"  cried  Hiram,  angrily. 
"You  and  the  rest  of  ye  think,  do  ye,  that  me  and  Cap'n 
Sproul  is  goin'  to  make  a  present  of  five  thousand  dollars  to 
have  this  tavern  stand  here  as  a  Double-yer  T.  Double-yer 
monnyment  ?  Well,  as  old  Bassett  said,  skursely,  and  not 
even  as  much  as  that!" 

"Then  I'd  like  to  see  the  man  that  can  run  it,"  declared 
the  spokeswoman  with  fine  spirit.  "We're  going  to  back 
Mis'  Gifford.  We're  going  to  the  train  to  get  custom  for 
her.  We're  going  to  warn  every  one  against  this  tavern. 
There  isn't  a  girl  or  woman  in  twenty  towns  around  here 
who'll  work  in  this  hole  after  we've  warned  'em  what  it  is. 
Yes,  sir,  I'd  like  to  see  the  man  that  can  run  it!" 

334 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"Well,  you  look  at  him!"  shouted  Hiram,  slapping  his 
breast.  He  noted  a  look  of  alarm  on  the  Cap'n's  face,  and 
muttered  to  him  under  his  breath:  "You  ain't  goin'  to  let  a 
pack  of  wimmen  back  ye  down,  be  ye  ?" 

"How  be  we  goin'  to  work  to  run  it?"  whispered  the 
Cap'n. 

"That  ain't  the  p'int  now,"  growled  Hiram.  "The  p'int 
is,  we're  goin'  to  run  it.  And  you've  got  to  back  me  up." 

"Hiram!"  called  his  wife,  appealingly,  but  he  had  no  ears 
for  her. 

"You've  made  your  threats,"  he  stormed,  addressing  the 
leader  of  the  Workers.  "You  haven't  talked  to  us  as  gents 
ought  to  be  talked  to.  You  haven't  made  any  allowances. 
You  haven't  shown  any  charity.  You've  just  got  up  and 
tried  to  jam  us  to  the  wall.  Now,  seein'  that  your  business 
is  done  here,  and  that  this  tavern  is  under  new  management, 
you'll  be  excused  to  go  over  and  start  your  own  place." 

He  opened  the  door  and  bowed,  and  the  women,  noting 
determination  in  his  eyes,  began  to  murmur,  to  sniff  spite 
fully,  and  to  jostle  slowly  out.  Mrs.  Look  and  Mrs.  Sproul 
showed  some  signs  of  lingering,  but  Hiram  suggested  dryly 
that  they'd  better  stick  with  the  band. 

"We'll  be  man  and  wife  up  home,"  he  said,  "and  no 
twits  and  no  hard  feelin's.  But  just  now  you  are  Double- 
yer  T.  Double-yers  and  we  are  tavern-keepers — and  we  don't 
hitch."  They  went. 

"Now,  Nute,"  barked  Hiram,  when  the  constable  lin 
gered  as  though  rather  ashamed  to  depart  with  the  women, 
"you  get  out  of  here  and  you  stay  out,  or  I'll  cook  that 
stuffed  alligator  and  a  few  others  of  these  tangdoodiaps  here 
and  ram  'em  down  them  old  jaws  of  yours."  Therefore, 
Constable  Nute  went,  too. 

335 


XXVIII 

OVED  by  mutual  impulse,  Hiram 
and  the  Cap'n  plodded  through  the 
deserted  tavern,  up  -  stairs  and  down 
stairs.  When  they  went  into  the  kitch- 
en  the  two  hired  girls  were  dragging 
their  trunks  to  the  door,  and  scornfully  resisted  all  ap 
peals  to  remain.  They  said  it  was  a  nasty  rum  -  hole, 
and  that  they  had  reputations  to  preserve  just  as  well  as 
some  folks  who  thought  they  were  better  because  they 
had  money.  Fine  hand  of  the  W.  T.  W.'s  shown  thus 
early  in  the  game  of  tavern-keeping!  There  were  even 
dirty  dishes  in  the  sink,  so  precipitate  was  the  departure. 

In  the  stable,  the  hostler,  a  one-eyed  servitor,  with  the 
piping  voice,  wobbly  gait,  and  shrunken  features  of  the 
"white  drunkard,"  was  in  his  usual  sociable  state  of  intoxi 
cation,  and  declared  that  he  would  stick  by  them.  He  tes 
tified  slobberingly  as  to  his  devotion  to  Mr.  Parrott,  declared 
that  when  the  women  descended  Mr.  Parrott  confided  to 
him  the  delicate  task  of  "hiding  the  stuff,"  and  that  he  had 
managed  to  conceal  quite  a  lot  of  it. 

"Well,  dig  it  up  and  throw  it  away,"  directed  Hiram. 
"Oh,  only  a  fool  in  the  business  buries  rum,"  confided  the 
hostler.     "I've   been   in  the   rum   business,   and   I   know. 
They  allus  hunts  haymows  and  sullers.     But  I  know  how 
to  hide  it.     I'm  shrewd  about  them  things." 

336 


THE    SKIPPER    AND    THE    SKIPPED 

"We  don't  want  no  rum  around  here,"  declared  the  show 
man  with  positiveness. 

The  hostler  winked  his  one  eye  at  him,  and,  having  had  a 
rogue's  long  experience  in  roguery,  plainly  showed  that  he 
believed  a  command  of  this  sort  to  be  merely  for  the  purpose 
of  publication  and  not  an  evidence  of  good  faith. 

"And  there  won't  be  much  rum  left  round  here  if  we  only 
let  him  alone,"  muttered  Hiram  as  he  and  the  Cap'n  walked 
back  to  the  house.  "I  only  wisht  them  hired  girls  had  as 
good  an  attraction  for  stayin'  as  he's  got." 

"Look  here,  Hiram,"  said  the  Cap'n,  stopping  him  on  the 
porch,  "it's  all  right  to  make  loud  talk  to  them  Double-yec 
T.  Double-yers,  but  there  ain't  any  sense  in  makin'  it  to 
each  other.  You  and  me  can't  run  this  tavern  no  more'n 
hen-hawks  can  run  a  revival.  Them  wimmen — 

"You  goin'  to  let  them  wimmen  cackle  for  the  next  two 
years,  and  pass  it  down  to  their  grandchildren  how  they  done 
us  out  of  all  the  money  we  put  in  here — two  able-bodied 
business  men  like  we  be  ?  A  watch  ain't  no  good  only  so 
long's  it's  runnin',  and  a  tavern  ain't,  either.  We've  got  to 
run  this  till  we  can  sell  it,  wimmen  or  no  wimmen — and  you 
hadn't  ought  to  be  a  quitter  with  thutty-five  hunderd  in  it." 

But  there  was  very  little  enthusiasm  or  determination  in 
the  Cap'n's  face.  The  sullenness  deepened  there  when  he 
saw  a  vehicle  turn  in  at  the  tavern  yard.  It  was  a  red  van 
on  runners,  and  on  its  side  was  inscribed: 

T.  BRACKETT, 

TINWARE  AND  YANKEE  NOTIONS. 

He  was  that  round-faced,  jovial  little  man  who  was  known 
far  and  wide  among  the  housewives  of  the  section  as  "Balm 

337 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

o'  Joy  Brackett,"  on  account  of  a  certain  liniment  that  he 
compounded  and  dispensed  as  a  side-line.  With  the  pos 
sible  exception  of  one  Marengo  Todd,  horse-jockey  and  also 
far-removed  cousin  of  Mrs.  Sproul,  there  was  no  one  in  her 
circle  of  cousins  that  the  Cap'n  hated  any  more  cordially  than 
Todd  Ward  Brackett.  Mr.  Brackett,  by  cheerfully  hailing 
the  Cap'n  as  "Cousin  Aaron"  at  every  opportunity,  had 
regularly  added  to  the  latter's  vehemence  of  dislike. 

The  little  man  nodded  cheery  greeting  to  the  showman, 
cried  his  usual  "Hullo,  Cousin  Aaron!"  to  the  surly  skipper, 
bobbed  off  his  van,  and  proceeded  to  unharness. 

"Well,"  sighed  Hiram,  resignedly,  "guest  Number  One 
for  supper,  lodgin',  and  breakfast — nine  shillin's  and  hoss- 
bait  extry.  'Ev'ry  little  helps,'  as  old  Bragg  said  when  he 
swallowed  the  hoss-fly." 

"There  ain't  any  Todd  Ward  Brackett  goin'  to  stop  in  my 
tavern,"  announced  the  Cap'n  with  decision.  Mr.  Brackett 
overheard  and  whirled  to  stare  at  them  with  mild  amaze 
ment.  "That's  what  I  said,"  insisted  Cap'n  Sproul,  re 
turning  the  stare.  "Ferd  Parrott  ain't  runnin'  this  tavern 
any  longer.  We're  runnin.'  it,  and  you  nor  none  of  your 
stripe  can  stop  here."  He  reflected  with  sudden  comfort 
that  there  was  at  least  one  advantage  in  owning  a  hotel.  It 
gave  a  man  a  chance  at  his  foes. 

"You're  runnin'  it,  be  you  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Brackett,  rais 
ing  his  voice  and  glancing  toward  Broadway's  store  platform 
where  loafers  were  listening. 

"That's  what  we  be,"  shouted  the  Cap'n. 

"Well,  I'm  glad  to  hear  that  you're  really  runnin'  it — and 
that  it  ain't  closed,"  said  Mr.  Brackett,  "'cause  I'm  applyin' 
here  to  a  public  house  to  be  put  up,  and  if  you  turn  me  away, 
havin'  plenty  of  room  and  your  sign  up,  by  ginger,  I'll  sue 

333 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

you  under  the  statute  and  law  made  and  pervided.  I  ain't 
drunk  nor  disorderly,  and  I've  got  money  to  pay — and  I'll 
have  the  law  on  ye  if  ye  don't  let  me  in." 

Mention  of  the  law  always  had  terrifying  effect  on  Cap'n 
Sproul.  He  feared  its  menace  and  its  intricacies.  It  was 
his  nightmare  that  law  had  long  been  lying  in  wait  on  shore 
for  him,  and  that  once  the  land-sharks  got  him  in  their  grip 
they  would  never  let  go  until  he  was  sucked  dry. 

"I've  got  witnesses  who  heard,"  declared  Mr.  Brackett, 
waggling  mittened  hand  at  the  group  on  the  platform. 
"Now  you  look  out  for  yourself!" 

He  finished  unharnessing  his  horse  and  led  the  animal 
toward  the  barn,  carolling  his  everlasting  lay  about  "Old 
Hip  Huff,  who  went  by  freight  to  Newry  Corner,  in  this 
State." 

"There's  just  this  much  about  it,  Cap,"  Hiram  hastened 
to  say;  "me  'n'  you  have  got  to  run  the  shebang  till  we  can 
unlo'd  it.  We  can't  turn  away  custom  and  kill  the  thing 
dead.  I'll  'tend  the  office,  make  the  beds,  and  keep  the  fires 
goin'.  You — you —  He  gazed  at  the  Cap'n,  faltering  in 
his  speech  and  fingering  his  nose  apprehensively. 

"Well,  me  what  ?"  snapped  the  ex-master  of  the  Jefferson 
P.  Benn.  But  his  sparkling  eyes  showed  that  he  realized 
what  was  coming. 

"You've  allus  been  braggin',"  gulped  Hiram,  "what  a 
dabster  you  was  at  cookin',  havin'  been  to  sea  and — 

"Me — me?"  demanded  the  Cap'n,  slugging  his  own 
breast  ferociously.  "Me  put  on  an  ap'un,  and  go  out  there, 
and  kitchen-wallop  for  that  jimbedoggified  junacker  of  a 
tin-peddler  ?  I'll  burn  this  old  shack  down  first,  I  will,  by 
the—" 

But  Hiram  entered  fervent  and  expostulatory  appeal. 
23  339 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"If  you  don't,  we're  sendin'  that  talkin'-machine  on  legs 
off  to  sue  and  get  damages,  and  report  this  tavern  from  Clew 
to  Hackenny,  and  spoil  our  chances  for  a  customer,  and 
knock  us  out  generally." 

He  put  his  arm  about  the  indignant  Cap'n  and  drew  him 
in  where  the  loafers  couldn't  listen,  and  continued  his 
anxious  coaxings  until  at  last  Cap'n  Sproul  kicked  and 
stamped  his  way  into  the  kitchen,  cursing  so  horribly  that 
the  cat  fled.  He  got  a  little  initial  satisfaction  by  throwing 
after  her  the  dirty  dishes  in  the  sink,  listening  to  their  crash 
ing  with  supreme  satisfaction.  Then  he  proceeded  to  get 
supper. 

It  had  been  a  long  time  since  he  had  indulged  his  natural 
taste  for  cookery.  In  a  half-hour  he  had  forgotten  his  anger 
and  was  revelling  in  the  domain  of  pots  and  pans.  He  felt 
a  sudden  appetite  of  his  own  for  the  good,  old-fashioned 
plum-duff  of  shipboard  days,  and  started  one  going.  Then 
gingercake — his  own  kind — came  to  his  memory.  He 
stirred  up  some  of  that.  He  sent  Hiram  on  a  dozen  errands 
to  the  grocery,  and  Hiram  ran  delightedly. 

"  I'll  show  you  whether  I  can  cook  or  not,"  was  the  Cap'n's 
proud  boast  to  the  showman  when  the  latter  bustled  eagerly 
in  from  one  of  his  trips.  He  held  out  a  smoking  doughnut 
on  a  fork.  "There  ain't  one  woman  in  ten  can  fry  'em  with 
out  'em  soakin'  fat  till  they're  as  heavy  as  a  sinker." 

Hiram  gobbled  to  the  last  mouthful,  expressing  his  ad 
miration  as  he  ate,  and  the  Cap'n  glowed  under  the 
praise. 

His  especial  moment  of  triumph  came  when  his  wife  and 
Mrs.  Look,  adventuring  to  seek  their  truant  husbands,  sat 
for  a  little  while  in  the  tavern  kitchen  and  ate  a  doughnut, 
and  added  their  astonished  indorsement.  In  the  flush  of 

340 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

his  masterfulness  he  would  not  permit  them  to  lay  finger  on 
dish,  pot,  or  pan. 

Hiram  served  as  waiter  to  the  lonely  guest  in  the  dining- 
room,  and  was  the  bearer  of  several  messages  of  commenda 
tion  that  seemed  to  anger  the  Cap'n  as  much  as  other  praise 
gratified  him. 

"Me  standin'  here  cookin'  for  that  sculpin!"  he  kept 
growling. 

However,  he  ladled  out  an  especially  generous  portion  of 
plum-dufF — the  climax  of  his  culinary  art — and  to  his  wrath 
ful  astonishment  Hiram  brought  it  back  untasted. 

"  Mebbe  it's  all  right,"  he  said,  apologetically,  "  but  he  was 
filled  full,  and  he  said  it  was  a  new  dish  to  him  and  didn't 
look  very  good,  and — 

The  Cap'n  grabbed  the  disparaged  plum-dufF  with  an 
oath  and  started  for  the  dining-room. 

"Hold  on!"  Hiram  expostulated;  "you've  got  to  remem 
ber  that  he's  a  guest,  Cap.  He's — 

"He's  goin'  to  eat  what  I  give  him,  after  I've  been  to  all 
the  trouble,"  roared  the  old  skipper. 

Mr.  Brackett  was  before  the  fire  in  the  office,  hiccuping 
with  repletion  and  stuffing  tobacco  into  the  bowl  of  his  clay 
pipe. 

"Anything  the  matter  with  that  duff  ?"  demanded  the  irate 
cook,  pushing  the  dish  under  Mr.  Brackett's  retreating  nose. 
"Think  I  don't  know  how  to  make  plum-dufF — me  that's 
sailed  the  sea  for  thutty-five  years  ?" 

"Never  made  no  such  remarks  on  your  cookin',"  declared 
the  guest,  clearing  his  husky  throat  in  which  the  food  seemed 
to  be  sticking. 

"Hain't  got  no  fault  to  find  with  that  plum-dufF?" 

"Not  a  mite,"  agreed  Mr.  Brackett,  heartily. 
341 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"Then  you  come  back  out  here  to  the  table  and  eat  it. 
You  ain't  goin'  to  slander  none  of  my  vittles  that  I've  took 
as  much  trouble  with  as  I  have  with  this." 

"But  I'm  full  up — chock!"  pleaded  Mr.  Brackett.  "I 
wisht  I'd  have  saved  room.  I  reckon  it's  good.  But  I  ain't 
carin'  for  it." 

"You'll  come  out  and  eat  that  duff  if  I  have  to  stuff  it 
down  your  thro't  with  the  butt  of  your  hoss-whip,"  said  the 
Cap'n  with  an  iciness  that  was  terrifying.  He  grabbed  the 
little  man  by  the  collar  and  dragged  him  toward  the  dining- 
room,  balancing  the  dish  in  the  other  hand. 

"I'll  bust,"  wailed  Mr.  Brackett. 

"Well,  that  bump  will  make  a  little  room,"  remarked 
Cap'n  Sproul,  jouncing  him  down  into  a  chair. 

He  planted  one  broad  hand  on  the  table  and  the  other  on 
his  hip,  and  stood  over  the  guest  until  the  last  crumb  of  the 
duff  was  gone,  although  Mr.  Brackett  clucked  hiccups  like 
an  overfed  hen.  The  Cap'n  felt  some  of  his  choler  evapo 
rate,  indulging  in  this  sweet  act  of  tyranny. 

Resentment  came  slowly  into  the  jovial  nature  of  meek 
Todd  Ward  Brackett.  But  as  he  pushed  away  from  the 
table  he  found  courage  to  bend  baleful  gaze  on  his  over- 
hospitable  host. 

"I've  put  up  at  a  good  many  taverns  in  my  life,"  he  said, 
"and  I'm  allus  willin'  to  eat  my  fair  share  of  vittles,  but  I 
reckon  I've  got  the  right  to  say  how  much!" 

"If  you're  done  eatin',"  snapped  the  Cap'n,  "get  along 
out,  and  don't  stay  round  in  the  way  of  the  help."  And  Mr. 
Brackett  retired,  growling  over  this  astonishing  new  insult. 

He  surveyed  the  suspended  alligator  gloomily,  as  he 
stuffed  tobacco  into  his  pipe. 

"Better  shet  them  jaws,"  he  advised,  "or  now  that  he  s 

342 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

crazy  on  the  plum-duff  question  he'll  be  jamming  the  rest  of 
that  stuff  into  you." 

"You  can't  say  outside  that  the  table  ain't  all  right  or  that 
folks  go  away  hungry  under  the  new  management,"  re 
marked  Hiram,  endeavoring  to  palliate. 

"New  management  goin'  to  inorg'rate  the  plum-duffin' 
idee  as  a  reg'lar  system  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Brackett,  sullenly. 
"If  it  is,  I'll  stay  over  to-morrow  and  see  you  operate  on  the 
new  elder  that's  goin'  to  supply  the  pulpit  Sunday — per- 
vidin'  he  stays  here." 

Hiram  blinked  his  eyes  inquiringly.  "New  elder?"  he 
repeated. 

"Get  a  few  elders  to  put  up  here,"  suggested  Mr.  Brackett, 
venomously,  "and  new  management  might  take  a  little  cuss 
off'm  the  reppytation  of  this  tavern."  And  the  guest  fell  to 
smoking  and  muttering. 

Even  as  wisdom  sometimes  fails  from  the  mouths  of  babes, 
so  do  good  ideas  occasionally  spring  from  careless  sarcasm. 

After  Mr.  Brackett  had  retired  Hiram  discussed  the  matter 
of  the  impending  elder  with  Cap'n  Sproul,  the  Cap'n  not 
warming  to  the  proposition. 

"  But  I  tell  you  if  we  can  get  that  elder  here,"  insisted 
Hiram,  "and  explain  it  to  him  and  get  him  to  stay,  he's  goin' 
to  look  at  it  in  the  right  light,  if  he's  got  any  Christian  charity 
in  him.  We'll  entertain  him  free,  do  the  right  thing  by  him, 
tell  him  the  case  from  A  to  Z,  and  get  him  to  handle  them 
infernal  wimmen.  Only  an  elder  can  do  it.  If  we  don't 
he  may  preach  a  sermon  against  us.  That  '11  kill  our  busi 
ness  proposition  deader'n  it  is  now.  If  he  stays  it  will  give 
a  tone  to  the  new  management,  and  he  can  straighten  the 
thing  out  for  us." 

Not  only  did  Cap'n  Sproul  fail  to  become  enthusiastic,  but 

343 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

he  was  so  distinctly  discouraging  that  Hiram  forbore  to 
argue,  feeling  his  own  optimistic  resolution  weaken  under 
this  depressing  flow  of  cold  water. 

He  did  not  broach  the  matter  the  next  morning.  He  left 
the  Cap'n  absorbed  and  busy  in  his  domain  of  pots,  set  his 
jaws,  took  his  own  horse  and  pung,  and  started  betimes  for 
the  railroad-station  two  miles  away.  On  the  way  he  over 
took  and  passed,  with  fine  contempt  for  their  podgy  horse, 
a  delegation  from  the  W.  T.  W.'s. 

On  the  station  platform  they  frowned  upon  him,  and  he 
scowled  at  them.  He  realized  that  his  only  chance  in  this 
desperate  venture  lay  in  getting  at  the  elder  first,  and  frisking 
him  away  before  the  women  had  opportunity  to  open  their 
mouths.  A  word  from  them  might  check  operations.  And 
then,  with  the  capture  once  made,  if  he  could  speed  his 
horse  fast  enough  to  allow  him  an  uninterrupted  quarter  of 
an  hour  at  the  tavern  with  the  minister,  he  decided  that  only 
complete  paralysis  of  the  tongue  could  spoil  his  plan. 

Hiram,  with  his  superior  bulk  and  his  desperate  eager 
ness,  had  the  advantage  of  the  women  at  the  car-steps.  He 
crowded  close.  It  was  the  white-lawn  tie  on  the  first  pas 
senger  who  descended  that  did  the  business  for  Hiram.  In 
his  mind  white-lawn  ties  and  clergymen  were  too  intimately 
associated  to  admit  of  error.  He  yanked  away  the  little 
man's  valise,  grabbed  his  arm,  and  rushed  him  across  the 
platform  and  into  the  pung's  rear  seat.  And  the  instant  he 
had  scooped  the  reins  from  the  dasher  he  flung  himself  into 
the  front  seat  and  was  away  up  the  road,  larruping  his  horse 
and  ducking  the  snow-cakes  that  hurtled  from  the  animal's 
hoofs. 

"Look  here!  I — I — "  gasped  the  little  man,  prodding 
him  behind. 

344 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"It's  all  right,  elder!"  bellowed  Hiram.  "You  wait  till 
we  get  there  and  it  will  be  made  all  right.  Set  clus'  and  hold 
on,  that's  all  now!" 

"But,  look  here,  I  want  to  go  to  Smyrna  tavern!" 

"Good  for  you!"  Hiram  cried.  "Set  clus'  and  you'll  get 
there!"  It  seemed,  after  all,  that  ill  repute  had  not  spread 
far.  His  spirits  rose,  and  he  whipped  on  at  even  better 
speed. 

"If  this  isn't  life  or  death,"  pleaded  the  little  man,  "you 
needn't  hurry  so."  Several  "thank-you-marms"  had  nearly 
bounced  him  out. 

"Set  clus',"  advised  the  driver,  and  the  little  man  en 
deavored  to  obey  the  admonition,  clinging  in  the  middle  of 
the  broad  seat. 

Hiram  did  not  check  speed  even  on  the  slope  of  the  hill 
leading  into  the  village,  though  the  little  man  again  lifted 
voice  of  fear  and  protest.  So  tempestuous  was  the  rush  of 
the  pung  that  the  loafers  in  Broadway's  store  hustled  out  to 
watch.  And  they  saw  the  runners  strike  the  slush-sub 
merged  plank-walk  leading  across  the  square,  beheld  the 
end  of  the  pung  flip,  saw  the  little  man  rise  high  above  the 
seat  with  a  fur  robe  in  his  arms  and  alight  with  a  yell  of 
mortal  fright  in  the  mushy  highway,  rolling  over  and  over 
behind  the  vehicle. 

Helping  hands  of  those  running  from  the  store  platform 
picked  him  up,  and  brought  his  hat,  and  stroked  the  slush 
out  of  his  eyes  so  that  he  could  see  Hiram  Look  sweeping 
back  to  recover  his  passenger. 

"You  devilish,  infernal  jayhawk  of  a  lunatic!"  squealed 
the  little  man.  "Didn't  I  warn  you  not  to  drive  so  fast?" 

Hiram's  jaw  dropped  at  the  first  blast  of  that  irreligious 
outbreak.  But  the  white-lawn  tie  reassured  him.  There 

345 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

was  no  time  for  argument.  Before  those  loafers  was  no  fit 
place.  He  grabbed  up  the  little  man,  poked  him  into  the 
pung,  held  him  in  with  one  hand  and  with  the  other  drove 
furiously  to  the  tavern  porch.  With  equal  celerity  he 
hustled  him  into  the  office. 

"You  ain't  in  any  condition  to  talk  business  jest  now  till 
you're  slicked  off  a  little,  elder,"  he  began  in  tones  of  abject 
apology. 

"You  bet  your  jeeroosly  life  I'm  not!"  cried  the  little  man 
in  a  perfect  frenzy  of  fury. 

Again  Hiram  opened  his  mouth  agitatedly,  and  his  eye 
brows  wrinkled  in  pained  surprise.  Yet  once  more  his  eyes 
sought  the  white  tie  and  his  hand  reached  for  the  little  man's 
arm,  and,  feeling  at  a  loss  just  then  for  language  of  explana 
tion,  he  hurried  him  up-stairs  and  into  a  room  whose  drawn 
curtains  masked  some  of  its  untidiness. 

"You  wash  up,  elder,"  he  counselled.  "I  won't  let  any 
body  disturb  you,  and  then  whatever  needs  to  be  explained 
will  be  all  explained.  Don't  you  blame  me  till  you  know 
it  all."  And  he  backed  out  and  shut  the  door. 

He  faced  the  Cap'n  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  The  Cap'n 
had  been  watching  intently  the  ascent  of  the  two,  and  had 
gathered  from  the  little  man's  scuffles  and  his  language  that 
he  was  not  a  particularly  enthusiastic  guest. 

"They  come  hard,  but  we  must  have  'em,  hey  ?  he  de 
manded,  grimly.  "This  is  worse  than  shanghaiing  for  a 
Liverpool  boardin'-house,  and  I  won't — " 

"S-s-s-sh!"  hissed  Hiram,  flapping  his  hand.  "That's 
the  elder." 

"An  elder  ?     A  man  that  uses  that  kind  of  language  ?" 

"He's  had  good  reason  for  it,"  returned  Hiram,  fervently. 
"It's  stout  talk,  but  I  ain't  blamin'  him."  He  locked  the 

346 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

outside  door.  "Them  Double-yer  T.  Double-yers  will  be 
flockin'  this  way  in  a  few  minutes,"  he  said,  in  explanation, 
"but  they'll  have  to  walk  acrost  me  in  addition  to  the  door 
mat  to  get  him  before  I've  had  my  say." 

But  even  while  he  was  holding  the  unconvinced  Cap'n  by 
the  arm  and  eagerly  going  over  his  arguments,  once  more 
they  heard  the  treading  of  many  feet  in  the  office.  There 
were  the  W.  T.  W.'s  in  force,  and  they  had  with  them  a  tall, 
gaunt  man;  and  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Look  and  Mrs.  Sproul, 
flushed  but  determined,  indicated  that  the  citadel  had  been 
betrayed  from  the  rear. 

"I  present  to  you  Reverend  T.  Thayer,  gents,"  said  the 
president,  icily,  "and  seein'  that  he  is  field-secretary  of  the 
enforcement  league,  and  knows  his  duty  when  he  sees  it 
clear,  he  will  talk  to  you  for  your  own  good,  and  if  it  don't 
do  you  good,  I  warn  you  that  there  will  be  something  said 
from  the  pulpit  to-morrow  that  will  bring  down  the  guilty 
in  high  places." 

"The  elder!"  gasped  Hiram,  whirling  to  gaze  aghast  at  the 
Cap'n.  Then  he  turned  desperate  eyes  up  at  the  ceiling, 
where  creaking  footsteps  sounded.  "Who  in  the  name  o' 
Jezebel — "  he  muttered. 

Above  there  was  a  sort  of  spluttering  bark  of  a  human 
voice,  and  the  next  moment  there  was  a  sound  as  of  some 
one  running  about  wildly.  Then  down  the  stairs  came  the 
guest,  clattering,  slipping,  and  falling  the  last  few  steps  as 
he  clung  to  the  rail.  His  eyes  were  shut  tight,  his  face  was 
dripping,  and  he  was  plaintively  bleating  over  and  over: 
"I'm  poisoned!  I'm  blind!" 

Hiram  ran  to  him  and  picked  him  up  from  where  he  had 
fallen.  His  coat  and  vest  were  off,  and  his  suspenders 
trailed  behind  him.  One  sniff  at  his  frowsled  hair  told 

347 


THE    SKIPPER    AND    THE    SKIPPED 

Hiram  the  story.  The  little  man's  topknot  was  soppy  with 
whiskey;  his  face  was  running  with  it;  his  eyes  were  full  of 
it.  And  the  next  moment  the  doubtful  aroma  had  spread 
to  the  nostrils  of  all.  And  the  one-eyed  hostler  and  liquor 
depository,  standing  on  the  outskirts  of  the  throng  that  he 
had  solicitously  followed  in,  slapped  palm  against  thigh  and 
cried:  "By  Peter,  that's  the  gallon  I  poured  in  the  water- 
pitcher  and  forgot  where  I  left  it!" 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  and  command  you  and  order  you  to 
throw  away  all  the  liquor  round  this  place,  you  one-eyed 
sandpipe  ?"  demanded  Hiram,  furiously. 

"  There  was  a  lot  of  hidin'  done  in  a  hurry  when  they  come 
down  on  Ferd,"  pleaded  the  hostler,  "and  I  forgot  where  I 
hid  that  gallon!" 

The  little  man  had  his  smarting  eyes  open.  "Whiskey  ?" 
he  mumbled,  dragging  his  hand  over  his  hair  and  sniffing  at 
his  fingers. 

"You  heard  what  that  renegade  owned  up  to,"  shouted 
Hiram,  facing  the  women.  "I  gave  him  his  orders.  I  give 
him  his  orders  now.  You  jest  appoint  your  delegation, 
wimmen!  Don't  you  hold  me  to  blame  for  rum  bein'  here. 
You  foller  that  man!  And  if  he  don't  show  you  where  every 
drop  is  hid  and  give  it  into  your  hands  to  spill,  I'll — I'll — 
He  paused  for  a  threat,  cast  his  eyes  about  him,  and  tore 
down  the  alligator  from  the  ceiling,  seized  it  by  the  stiff  tail 
•and  poised  it  like  a  cudgel.  "I'll  meller  him  within  an  inch 
of  his  life." 

"That  sounds  fair  and  reasonable,  ladies,"  said  the 
clergyman,  "  though,  of  course,  we  don't  want  any  violence." 

"I'm  always  fair  and  reasonable,"  protested  Hiram, 
"when  folks  come  at  me  in  a  fair  and  reasonable  way.  You 
talk  to  them  wimmen,  elder,  about  bein'  fair  and  reasonable 

348 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

themselves,  and  then  lead  'em  back  here,  and  you'll  find  me 
ready  to  pull  with  'em  for  the  good  of  this  place,  without 
tryin'  to  run  cross-legged  or  turn  a  yoke  or  twist  the  names." 

When  the  reformers  had  departed  on  the  heels  of  the 
cowed  hostler,  Hiram  surveyed  with  interest  the  little  man 
who  was  left  alone  with  them. 

"I — I — reckon  I've  got  a  little  business  to  talk  over  with 
you,"  faltered  the  old  showman,  surveying  him  ruefully. 
The  little  man  took  a  parting  sniff  at  his  finger-tips. 

"You  think,  do  you,  that  you've  got  over  being  driven  up 
and  that  now  you  can  stop  flying  and  perch  a  few  minutes  ?" 
inquired  the  little  man  with  biting  irony. 

"I'll  'tend  to  your  case  now  jest  as  close  as  I  can,"  re 
turned  Hiram,  meekly. 

"Well,"  proceeded  the  little  man,  after  boring  Hiram  and 
then  the  Cap'n  for  a  time  with  steely  eyes,  "I  happened  to 
run  across  one  Ferdinand  Parrott  on  the  train,  and  he 
seemed  to  have  what  I've  been  looking  for,  a  property  that 
I  can  convert  into  a  sanitarium.  My  name  is  Professor 
Diamond,  and  I  am  the  inventor  of  the  Telauto — 

But  Hiram's  curiosity  did  not  extend  to  the  professor's 
science. 

"The  idee  is,"  he  broke  in,  eagerly,  "did  Ferd  Parrott  say 
anything  about  a  morgidge  and  bill  of  sale  bein'  on  this 
property,  and  be  you  prepared  to  clear  off  encumbrances  ?" 

"I  am,"  declared  the  professor  promptly. 

"Then  you  take  it,"  snapped  Hiram,  with  comprehensive 
sweep  of  his  big  hand.  He  kicked  the  alligator  into  the  fire 
place,  took  down  his  overcoat  and  shrugged  his  shoulders 
into  it.  "Get  your  money  counted  and  come  'round  to 
town  office  for  your  papers." 

While  he  was  buttoning  it  the  Reverend  Thayer  returned, 
349 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

leading  the  ladies  of  the  Women's  Temperance  Workers, 
Miss  Philamese  Nile  at  his  side.  But  Hiram  checked  her 
first  words. 

"You  talk  to  him  after  this,"  he  said,  with  a  chuck  of  his 
thumb  over  his  shoulder  toward  the  professor.  "Speakin' 
for  Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul  and  myself,  I  take  the  liberty  to  here 
state  that  we  are  now  biddin'  farewell  to  the  tavern  business 
in  one  grand  tableau  to  slow  music,  lights  turned  low  and 
the  audience  risin'  and  singin'  'Home,  Sweet  Home'."  He 
strode  out  by  the  front  way,  followed  by  Mrs.  Look. 

"Had  you  just  as  soon  come  through  the  kitchen  with 
me  ?"  asked  the  Cap'n  in  a  whisper  as  he  approached  his 
wife.  "I'm  goin'  to  do  up  what's  left  of  that  plum-duff  and 
take  it  home.  It  kind  o'  hits  my  tooth!" 


XXIX 

R.  AHOLIAH  LUCE,  of  the  Purgatory 
Hollow  section  of  Smyrna,  stood  at  bay 
on  the  dirt-banking  of  his  "castle,"  that 
is,  a  sagged-in  old  hulk  of  a  house  of 
£  which  only  the  L  was  habitable. 
He  was  facing  a  delegation  of  his  fellow-citizens,  to  wit: 
Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul,  first  selectman  of  the  town;  Hiram 
Look,  Zeburee  Nute,  constable;  and  a  nervous  little  man 
with  a  smudge  of  smut  on  the  side  of  his  nose — identity  and 
occupation  revealed  by  the  lettering  on  the  side  of  his  wagon: 

T.  TAYLOR 

STOVES   AND   TINWARE 
VIENNA 

Mr.  Luce  had  his  rubber  boots  set  wide  apart,  and  his 
tucked-in  trousers  emphasized  the  bow  in  his  legs.  With 
those  legs  and  his  elongated  neck  and  round,  knobby  head, 
Mr.  Luce  closely  resembled  one  of  a  set  of  antique  andirons. 

"You  want  to  look  out  you  don't  squdge  me  too  fur  in 
this,"  said  Mr.  Luce,  warningly.  "I've  been  squdged  all 
my  life,  and  I've  'bout  come  to  the  limick.  Now  look  out 
you  don't  squdge  me  too  fur!" 

He  side-stepped  and  stood  athwart  his  door,  the  frame  of 
which  had  been  recently  narrowed  by  half,  the  new  boarding 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

showing  glaringly  against  the  old.  When  one  understood 
the  situation,  this  new  boarding  had  a  very  significant  ap 
pearance. 

Mr.  Luce  had  gone  over  into  Vienna,  where  his  reputation 
for  shiftiness  was  not  as  well  known,  and  had  secured  from 
Mr.  T.  Taylor,  recently  set  up  in  the  stove  business,  a  new 
range  with  all  modern  attachments,  promising  to  pay  on  the 
instalment  plan.  Stove  once  installed,  Mr.  Luce  had  im 
mediately  begun  to  "improve"  his  mansion  by  building  a 
new  door-frame  too  narrow  to  permit  the  exit  of  the  stove. 
Then  Mr.  Luce  had  neglected  to  pay,  and,  approached  by 
replevin  papers,  invoked  the  statute  that  provides  that  a 
man's  house  cannot  be  ripped  in  pieces  to  secure  goods  pur 
chased  on  credit. 

Constable  Nute,  unable  to  cope  with  the  problem,  had 
driven  to  Smyrna  village  and  summoned  the  first  selectman, 
and  the  Cap'n  had  solicited  Hiram  Look  to  transport  him, 
never  having  conquered  his  sailor's  fear  of  a  horse. 

"It  ain't  goin'  to  be  twitted  abroad  in  Vienny  nor  any 
other  town  that  we  let  you  steal  from  outsiders  in  any  such 
way  as  this,"  declared  the  first  selectman,  once  on  the 
ground.  "Folks  has  allus  cal'lated  on  your  stealin'  about 
so  much  here  in  town  in  the  run  of  a  year,  and  haven't  made 
no  great  fuss  about  it.  But  we  ain't  goin'  to  harbor  and 
protect  any  general  Red  Rover  and  have  it  slurred  against 
this  town.  Take  down  that  scantlin'  stuff  and  let  this  man 
have  his  stove." 

"You  can  squdge  me  only  so  fur  and  no  furder,"  asserted 
Luce,  sullenly,  holding  down  his  loose  upper  lip  with  his 
yellow  teeth  as  though  to  keep  it  from  flapping  in  the  wind. 
Within  the  mansion  there  was  the  mellow  rasp  of  a  tin  of 
biscuit  on  an  oven  floor,  the  slam  of  an  oven  door,  and  Mrs. 

352 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Luce  appeared  dusting  flour  from  her  hands.  All  who  knew 
Mrs.  Luce  knew  that  she  was  a  persistent  and  insistent  ex 
ponent  of  the  belief  of  the  Millerites — "Go-uppers,"  they 
called  the  sect  in  Smyrna. 

"I  say  you've  got  to  open  up  and  give  this  man  his  prop 
erty,"  cried  Cap'n  Sproul,  advancing  on  them. 

"Property?  Who  talks  of  property?"  demanded  Mrs. 
Luce,  her  voice  hollow  with  the  hollowness  of  the  prophet. 
"No  one  knows  the  day  and  the  hour  when  we  are  to  be 
swept  up.  It  is  near  at  hand.  We  shall  ride  triumphant 
to  the  skies.  And  will  any  one  think  of  property  and  the 
vain  things  of  this  world  then  ?" 

"Prob'ly  not,"  agreed  the  Cap'n,  sarcastically,  "and  there 
won't  be  any  need  of  a  cook-stove  in  the  place  where  your 
husband  will  fetch  up.  He  can  do  all  his  cookin'  on  a 
toastin'-fork  over  an  open  fire — there'll  be  plenty  of  blaze." 

"Don't  squdge  me  too  fur,"  repeated  Mr.  Luce,  clinging 
to  the  most  expressive  warning  he  could  muster  just  then. 

"It's  full  time  for  that  critter  to  be  fetched  up  with  a 
round  turn,"  muttered  Constable  Nute,  coming  close  to  the 
elbow  of  the  first  selectman,  where  the  latter  stood  glowering 
on  the  culprit.  "I  reckon  you  don't  know  as  much  about 
him  as  I  do.  When  his  mother  was  nussin'  him,  a  helpless 
babe,  he'd  take  the  pins  out'n  her  hair,  and  they  didn't  think 
it  was  anything  but  playin'.  Once  he  stole  the  specs  off'm 
her  head  whilst  she  was  nappin'  with  him  in  her  arms,  and 
jammed  'em  down  a  hole  in  the  back  of  the  rockin'-chair. 
Whilst  old  Doc  Burns  was  vaccinatin'  him — and  he  wa'n't 
more'n  tew  years  old — he  got  Doc's  watch." 

"Those  things  would  kind  of  give  you  a  notion  he'd  steal, 
give  him  a  fair  chance,"  commented  Hiram,  dryly. 

"He's  stole  ever  since — everything  from  carpet  tacks  to  a 

353 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

load  of  hay,"  snapped  the  constable,  "till  folks  don't  stop 
to  think  he's  stealin'.  He's  got  to  be  like  rats  and  hossflies 
and  other  pests — you  cuss  'em,  but  you  reckon  they've  come 
to  stay." 

"I've  abated  some  of  the  nuisances  in  this  town,"  stated 
the  Cap'n,  "and  I  cal'late  I'm  good  for  this  one,  now  that 
it's  been  stuck  under  my  nose.  Why  haven't  you  arrested 
him  in  times  past,  same  as  you  ought  to  have  done  ?" 

"Wasn't  any  one  who  would  swear  out  complaints,"  said 
the  constable.  "He's  allus  been  threatenin'  what  kairosene 
and  matches  would  do  to  barns;  and  it  wouldn't  be  no  satis 
faction  to  send  'Liah  Luce  to  State  Prison — he  ain't  account 
enough.  It  wouldn't  pay  the  loser  for  a  stand  of  buildin's — 
havin'  him  there." 

Cap'n  Sproul  began  to  understand  some  of  the  sane  busi 
ness  reasons  that  guaranteed  the  immunity  of  Aholiah  Luce, 
so  long  as  he  stuck  to  petty  thieving.  But  this  international 
matter  of  the  town  of  Vienna  seemed  to  the  first  selectman 
of  Smyrna  to  be  another  sort  of  proposition.  And  he  sur 
veyed  the  recalcitrant  Mr.  Luce  with  malignant  gaze. 

"I've  never  seen  you  backed  down  by  nobody,"  vouch 
safed  the  admiring  constable,  anxious  to  shift  his  own  re 
sponsibility  and  understanding  pretty  well  how  to  do  it. 
"I've  allus  said  that  if  there  was  any  man  could  run  this 
town  the  way  it  ought  to  be  run  you  was  the  man  to  do  it." 

Cap'n  Sproul  was  not  the  kind  to  disappoint  the  confident 
flattery  of  those  who  looked  up  to  him.  He  buttoned  his 
pea-jacket,  and  set  his  hat  firmly  on  his  head.  Mr.  Luce 
noted  these  signs  of  belligerency  and  braced  his  firedog  legs. 

"It's  the  meek  that  shall  inherit,  ye  want  to  remember 
that!"  croaked  Mrs.  Luce.  "And  the  crowned  heads  and 
the  high  and  mighty — where  will  they  be  then  ?" 

354 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"They  won't  be  found  usin'  a  stolen  cook-stove  and 
quotin'  Scriptur',"  snorted  the  Cap'n  in  disgust. 

"It  ain't  been  stole,"  insisted  Mr.  Luce.  "It  was  bought 
reg'lar,  and  it  can't  be  took  away  without  mollywhackin'  my 
house — and  I've  got  the  law  on  my  side  that  says  you  can't 
do  it." 

Cap'n  Sproul  was  close  to  the  banking. 

"Luce,"  he  said,  savagely,  "I  ain't  out  here  to-day  to  dis 
cuss  law  p'ints  nor  argy  doctrines  of  religion.  You've  got 
a  stove  there  that  belongs  to  some  one  else,  and  you  either 
pay  for  it  or  give  it  up.  I'm  willin' to  be  fair  and  reasonable, 
and  I'll  give  you  fifteen  seconds  to  pay  or  tear  down  that 
door  framework." 

But  neither  alternative,  nor  the  time  allowed  for  accept 
ance,  seemed  to  please  Mr.  Luce.  In  sudden,  weak  anger 
at  being  thus  cornered  after  long  immunity,  he  anathema 
tized  all  authority  as  'twas  vested  in  the  first  selectman  of 
Smyrna.  Several  men  passing  in  the  highway  held  up  their 
horses  and  listened  with  interest. 

Emboldened  by  his  audience,  spurred  to  desperate  meas 
ures,  Mr.  Luce  kicked  out  one  of  his  rubber  boots  at  the 
advancing  Cap'n.  The  Cap'n  promptly  grasped  the  ex 
tended  leg  and  yanked.  Mr.  Luce  came  off  his  perch  and 
fell  on  his  back  in  the  mud,  and  Constable  Nute  straddled 
him  instantly  and  held  him  down.  With  an  axe  that  he 
picked  up  at  the  dooryard  woodpile,  Cap'n  Aaron  ham 
mered  out  the  new  door-frame,  paying  no  heed  to  Mr.  Luce's 
threats  or  Mrs.  Luce's  maledictions. 

"I  don't  know  the  law  on  it,  nor  I  don't  care,"  he  mut 
tered  between  his  teeth  as  he  toiled.  "All  I  know  is,  that 
stove  belongs  to  T.  Taylor,  of  Vienny,  and  he's  goin'  to  have 
it." 

24  355 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

And  when  the  new  boarding  lay  around  him  in  splinters 
and  the  door  was  wide  once  more,  he  led  the  way  into  the 
kitchen. 

"You  undertake  to  throw  that  hot  water  on  me,  Mis' 
Luce,"  he  declared,  noting  what  her  fury  was  prompting, 
"and  you'll  go  right  up  through  that  roof,  and  it  won't  be 
no  millennium  that  will  boost  you,  either." 

The  stove  man  and  Hiram  followed  him  in  and  the  dis 
interested  onlookers  came,  too,  curiosity  impelling  them. 
And  as  they  were  Smyrna  farmers  who  had  suffered  various 
and  aggravating  depredations  by  this  same  Aholiah  Luce, 
they  were  willing  to  lend  a  hand  even  to  lug  out  a  hot  stove. 
The  refulgent  monarch  of  the  kitchen  departed,  with  the  tin 
of  biscuit  still  browning  in  its  interior,  passed  close  to  the 
cursing  Mr.  Luce,  lying  on  his  back  under  Nute's  boring 
knee,  and  then  with  a  lusty  "Hop-ho!  All  together!"  went 
into  T.  Taylor's  wagon. 

Mr.  Luce,  freed  now  as  one  innocuous,  leaped  up  and 
down  in  a  perfect  ecstasy  of  fury.  "You've  squdged  me  too 
fur.  You've  done  it  at  last!"  he  screamed,  with  hysteric 
iteration.  "You've  made  me  a  desp'rit'  outlaw." 

"Outlaw!     You're  only  a  cheap  sneak-thief!" 

"That's  right,  Cap'n  Sproul,"  remarked  the  constable. 
"He  can't  even  steal  hens  till  it's  dark  and  they  can't  look 
at  him.  If  they  turned  and  put  their  eye  on  him  he  wouldn't 
dare  to  touch  'em." 

"I  don't  dast  to  be  an  outlaw,  hey  ?"  shrieked  Mr.  Luce. 
The  vast  injury  that  had  been  done  him,  this  ruthless  assault 
on  his  house,  his  humiliation  in  public,  and  now  these  wanton 
taunts,  whipped  his  weak  nature  into  frenzy.  Cowards  at 
bay  are  the  savagest  foes.  Mr.  Luce  ran  amuck! 

Spurring  his  resolution  by  howling  over  and  over:  "I 

356 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

don't  dast  to  be  an  outlaw,  hey  ?  I'll  show  ye!"  he  hastened 
with  a  queer  sort  of  stiff-legged  gallop  into  the  field,  tore 
away  some  boarding,  and  descended  into  what  was  evidently 
a  hiding-place,  a  dry  well.  A  moment,  and  up  he  popped, 
boosting  a  burden.  He  slung  it  over  his  shoulder  and 
started  toward  them,  staggering  under  its  weight.  It  was 
a  huge  sack,  with  something  in  it  that  sagged  heavily. 

"Nice  sort  of  an  outlaw  he'll  make — that  woodchuck!" 
observed  Constable  Nute  with  a  cackle  of  mirth. 

The  first  selectman  and  his  supporters  surveyed  the  ap 
proach  of  the  furious  Mr.  Luce  with  great  complacency.  If 
Mr.  Luce  had  emerged  with  a  shot-gun  in  his  fist  and  a 
knife  in  his  teeth  he  might  have  presented  some  semblance 
of  an  outlaw.  But  this  bow-legged  man  with  a  sack  cer 
tainly  did  not  seem  savage.  Hiram  offered  the  humorous 
suggestion  that  perhaps  Mr.  Luce  proposed  to  restore  prop 
erty,  and  thereby  causing  people  to  fall  dead  with  astonish 
ment  would  get  his  revenge  on  society. 

"I  warned  ye  and  you  wouldn't  listen,"  screamed  the  self- 
declared  pariah.  "I  said  there  was  such  a  thing  as  squdgin' 
me  too  fur.  Ye  didn't  believe  it.  Now  mebbe  ye'll  believe 
that!" 

He  had  halted  at  a  little  distance  from  them,  and  had  set 
down  his  sack.  He  dove  into  it  and  held  up  a  cylinder, 
something  more  than  half  a  foot  long,  a  brown,  unassuming 
cylinder  that  certainly  didn't  have  anything  about  its  looks 
to  call  out  all  the  excitement  that  was  convulsing  Mr.Luce. 

"Pee-ruse  that!"  squealed  he.  "There's  a  lead-pencil 
that  will  write  some  news  for  ye."  He  shook  the  cylinder  at 
them.  "And  there's  plenty  more  of  'em  in  this  bag."  He 
curled  his  long  lip  back.  "Daminite!"  he  spat.  "I'll  show 
ye  whuther  I'm  an  outlaw  or  not." 

357 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"And  I  know  where  you  stole  it,"  bawled  one  of  the  by 
standers  indignantly.  "You  stole  all  me  and  my  brother 
bought  and  had  stored  for  a  season's  blastin'.  Constable 
Nute,  I  call  on  you  to  arrest  him  and  give  me  back  my 
property." 

"Arrest  me,  hey?"  repeated  Mr.  Luce.  In  one  hand  he 
shook  aloft  the  stick  of  dynamite,  with  its  dangling  fuse  that 
grimly  suggested  the  detonating  cap  at  its  root.  In  the 
other  hand  he  clutched  a  bunch  of  matches.  "You  start 
in  to  arrest  me  and  you'll  arrest  two  miles  straight  up  above 
here,  travellin'  a  hundred  miles  a  minit." 

"There  ain't  any  grit  in  him,  Nute,"  mumbled  Cap'n 
Sproul.  "Jest  give  a  whoop  and  dash  on  him." 

"That  sounds  glib  and  easy,"  demurred  the  prudent  of 
ficer,  "but  if  that  man  hasn't  gone  clean  loony  then  I'm  no 
jedge.  I  don't  reckon  I'm  goin'  to  charge  any  batteries." 

"You'll  do  what  I  tell  you  to!  You're  an  officer,  and  un 
der  orders." 

"You  told  me  once  to  take  up  Hiram  Look's  el'funt  and 
put  her  in  the  pound,"  remonstrated  the  constable.  "  But  I 
didn't  do  it,  and  I  wasn't  holden  to  do  it.  And  I  ain't  holden 
to  run  up  and  git  blowed  to  everlastin'  hackmetack  with  a 
bag  of  dynamite." 

"Look  here,  Nute,"  cried  the  Cap'n,  thoroughly  indignant 
and  shifting  the  contention  to  his  officer — entirely  willing  to 
ignore  Mr.  Luce's  threats  and  provocations — "I  haven't 
called  on  you  in  a  tight  place  ever  in  my  life  but  what  you've 
sneaked  out.  You  ain't  fit  for  even  a  hog-reeve.  I'm  going 
to  cancel  your  constable  appointment,  that's  what  I'll  do 
when  I  get  to  town  hall." 

"I'll  do  it  right  now,"  declared  the  offended  Mr.  Nute, 
unpinning  his  badge.  "Any  time  you've  ordered  me  to  do 

358 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

something  sensible  I've  done  it.  But  el'funts  and  lunatics 
and  dynamite  and  some  of  the  other  jobs  you've  unlo'ded 
onto  me  ain't  sensible,  and  I  won't  stand  for  'em.  You 
can't  take  me  in  the  face  and  eyes  of  the  people  and  rake  me 
over."  He  had  noted  that  the  group  in  the  highway  had 
considerably  increased.  "I've  resigned." 

Mr.  Luce  was  also  more  or  less  influenced  and  emboldened 
and  pricked  on  by  being  the  centre  of  eyes.  As  long  as  he 
seemed  to  be  expected  to  give  a  show,  he  proposed  to  make 
it  a  good  one.  His  flaming  eyes  fell  on  T.  Taylor,  busy  over 
the  stove,  getting  it  ready  for  its  journey  back  to  Vienna. 
Mr.  Taylor,  happy  in  the  recovery  of  his  property,  was  pay 
ing  little  attention  to  outlaws  or  official  disputes.  He  had 
cleaned  out  the  coals  and  ashes,  and  having  just  now  dis 
covered  the  tin  of  biscuit,  tossed  it  away.  This  last  seemed 
too  much  for  Mr.  Luce's  self-control. 

"I  don't  dast  to  be  an  outlaw,  hey?"  he  cried,  hoarsely. 
"That  stove  is  too  good  for  me,  is  it?  My  wife's  biskits 
throwed  into  the  mud  and  mire!" 

He  lighted  the  fuse  of  the  dynamite,  ran  to  the  team  and 
popped  the  explosive  into  the  stove  oven  and  slammed  the 
door.  Then  he  flew  to  his  sack,  hoisted  it  to  his  shoulder 
and  staggered  back  toward  the  dry  well. 

At  this  critical  juncture  there  did  not  arise  one  of  those 
rare  spirits  to  perform  an  act  of  noble  self-sacrifice.  There 
have  been  those  who  have  tossed  spluttering  bombs  into  the 
sea;  who  have  trodden  out  hissing  fuses.  But  just  then  no 
one  seemed  to  care  for  the  exclusive  and  personal  custody 
of  that  stick  of  dynamite. 

All  those  in  teams  whipped  up,  yelling  like  madmen,  and 
those  on  foot  grabbed  on  behind  and  clambered  over  tail 
boards.  Cap'n  Sproul,  feeling  safer  on  his  own  legs  than  in 

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THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Hiram's  team,  pounded  away  down  the  road  with  the  speed 
of  a  frantic  Percheron.  And  in  all  this  panic  T.  Taylor, 
only  dimly  realizing  that  there  was  something  in  his  stove 
that  was  going  to  cause  serious  trouble,  obeyed  the  exhorta 
tions  screamed  at  him,  cut  away  his  horse,  straddled  the 
beast's  back  and  fled  with  the  rest. 

The  last  one  in  sight  was  Mrs.  Luce,  who  had  shown 
serious  intentions  of  remaining  on  the  spot  as  though  she 
feared  to  miss  anything  that  bore  the  least  resemblance  to 
the  coming  of  the  last  great  day.  But  she  suddenly  obeyed 
her  husband,  who  was  yelling  at  her  over  the  edge  of  the 
hole,  and  ran  and  fell  in  by  his  side. 

Missiles  that  screamed  overhead  signalized  to  the  scat 
tered  fugitives  the  utter  disintegration  of  T.  Taylor's  stove. 
The  hearth  mowed  off  a  crumbly  chimney  on  the  Luce 
house,  and  flying  fragments  crushed  out  sash  in  the  windows 
of  the  abandoned  main  part.  Cap'n  Sproul  was  the  first 
one  to  reappear,  coming  from  behind  a  distant  tree.  There 
was  a  hole  in  the  ground  where  T.  Taylor's  wagon  had 
stood. 

"Daminite!"  screamed  a  voice.  Mr.  Luce  was  dancing 
up  and  down  on  the  edge  of  his  hole,  shaking  another  stick 
of  the  explosive.  "I'll  show  ye  whuther  I'm  an  outlaw  or 
not!  I'll  have  this  town  down  on  its  knees.  I'll  show  ye 
what  it  means  to  squdge  me  too  fur.  I  give  ye  fair  warnin' 
from  now  on.  I'm  a  desp'rit'  man.  They'll  write  novels 
about  me  before  I'm  done.  Try  to  arrest  me,  will  ye  ?  I'll 
take  the  whole  possy  sky-hootin'  with  me  when  ye  come." 
He  was  drunk  with  power  suddenly  revealed  to  him. 

He  lifted  the  sack  out  of  the  hole  and,  paying  no  heed  to 
some  apparent  expostulations  of  Mrs.  Luce,  he  staggered 
away  up  the  hillside  into  the  beech  growth,  bowed  under 

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THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

his  burden.  And  after  standing  and  gazing  for  some  time 
at  the  place  where  he  disappeared,  the  first  selectman  trudged 
down  the  road  to  where  Hiram  was  waiting  for  him,  soothing 
his  trembling  horse. 

"Well,"  said  the  old  showman,  with  a  vigorous  exhalation 
of  breath  to  mark  relief,  "get  in  here  and  let's  go  home. 
Accordin'  to  my  notion,  replevinin'  and  outlawin'  ain't 
neither  sensible  or  fashionable  or  healthy.  Somethin'  that 
looked  like  a  stove-cover  and  sounded  like  a  howlaferinus 
only  just  missed  me  by  about  two  feet.  That  critter's  dan 
gerous  to  be  let  run  loose.  What  are  you  goin'  to  do  about 
him  ?" 

"Ketch  him,"  announced  the  Cap'n,  sturdily. 

"Well,"  philosophized  Hiram,  "smallpox  is  bad  when  it's 
runnin'  round  loose,  but  it's  a  blastnation  sight  worse  when 
it's  been  ketched.  You're  the  head  of  the  town  and  I  ain't, 
and  I  ain't  presumin'  to  advise,  but  I'd  think  twice  before  I 
went  to  runnin'  that  bag  o'  dynamite  into  close  corners. 
Luce  ain't  no  account,  and  no  more  is  an  old  hoss-pistol, 
but  when  a  hoss-pistol  busts  it's  a  dangerous  thing  to  be 
close  to.  You  let  him  alone  and  mebbe  he'll  quiet  down." 

But  that  prophecy  did  not  take  into  account  the  state  of 
mind  of  the  new  outlaw  of  Smyrna. 


XXX 

T  about  midnight  Cap'n  Sproul,  snoring 
peaceably  with  wide-open  mouth,  snapped 
upright  in  bed  with  a  jerk  that  set  his  teeth 
into  his  tongue  and  nearly  dislocated  his 
neck.  He  didn't  know  exactly  what  had  hap 
pened.  He  had  a  dizzy,  dreaming  feeling  that  he  had  been 
lifted  up  a  few  hundred  feet  in  the  air  and  dropped  back. 

"Land  o'  Goshen,  Aaron,  what  was  it  ?"  gasped  his  wife. 
"It  sounded  like  something  blowing  up!" 

The  hint  steadied  the  Cap'n's  wits.  'Twas  an  explosion 
— that  was  it!  And  with  grim  suspicion  as  to  its  cause,  he 
pulled  on  his  trousers  and  set  forth  to  investigate.  An  old 
barn  on  his  premises,  a  storehouse  for  an  overplus  of  hay  and 
discarded  farming  tools,  had  been  blown  to  smithereens  and 
lay  scattered  about  under  the  stars.  And  as  he  picked  his 
way  around  the  ruins  with  a  lantern,  cursing  the  name  of 
Luce,  a  far  voice  hailed  him  from  the  gloom  of  a  belt  of 
woodland :  "  I  ain't  an  outlaw,  hey  ?  I  don't  dast  to  be  one, 
hey  ?  You  wait  and  see." 

About  an  hour  later,  just  as  the  selectman  was  sinking 
into  a  doze,  he  heard  another  explosion,  this  time  far  in  the 
distance — less  a  sound  than  a  jar,  as  of  something  striking  a 
mighty  blow  on  the  earth. 

"More  dynamite!"  he  muttered,  recognizing  that  explo 
sive's  down-whacking  characteristic.  And  in  the  morning 

362 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Hiram  Look  hurried  across  to  inform  him  that  some  mis 
creant  had  blown  up  an  empty  corn-house  on  his  premises, 
and  that  the  explosion  had  shattered  all  the  windows  in  the 
main  barn  and  nearly  scared  Imogene,  the  elephant,  into 
conniptions.  "And  he  came  and  hollered  into  my  bedroom 
window  that  he'd  show  me  whuther  he  could  be  an  outlaw 
or  not,"  concluded  the  old  showman.  "I  tell  you  that 
critter  is  dangerous,  and  you've  got  to  get  him.  Instead  of 
quietin'  down  he'll  be  growin'  worse." 

There  were  eleven  men  in  Smyrna,  besides  Zeburee  Nute, 
who  held  commissions  as  constables,  and  those  valiant  of 
ficers  Cap'n  Sproul  called  into  the  first  selectman's  office 
that  forenoon.  He  could  not  tell  them  any  news.  The 
whole  of  Smyrna  was  ringing  with  the  intelligence  that 
Aholiah  Luce  had  turned  outlaw  and  was  on  the  rampage. 

The  constables,  however,  could  give  Selectman  Sproul 
some  news.  They  gave  it  to  him  after  he  had  ordered  them 
to  surround  Mr.  Luce  and  take  him,  dynamite  and  all.  This 
news  was  to  the  effect  that  they  had  resigned. 

"We've  talked  it  over,"  averred  Lycurgus  Snell,  acting  as 
spokesman,  "and  we  can't  figger  any  good  and  reeliable  way 
of  gittin'  him  without  him  gittin'  us,  if  he's  so  minded,  all  in 
one  tableau,  same  to  be  observed  with  smoked  glasses  like 
an  eclipse.  No,  s'r,  we  ain't  in  any  way  disposed  to  taller 
the  heavens  nor  furnish  mince-meat  funerals.  And  if  we 
don't  git  him,  and  he  knows  we're  takin'  action  agin'  him, 
he'll  come  round  and  blow  our  barns  up — and  we  ain't  so 
well  able  to  stand  the  loss  as  you  and  Mr.  Look  be." 

"Well,  if  you  ain't  about  the  nearest  to  knot-holes  with  the 
rims  gone  off'm  'em  of  anything  I  ever  see,"  declared  the 
Cap'n,  with  fury,  "  may  I  be  used  for  oakum  to  calk  a  guano 
gunlow!" 

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THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"If  you  think  it's  a  job  to  set  any  man  to,  you'd  better  go 
and  do  it  yourself,"  retorted  Snell,  bridling.  "You  know 
as  well  as  I  do,  s'leckman,  that  so  long  as  'Liah  has  been  let 
alone  he's  only  been  a  plain  thief,  and  we've  got  along  with 
him  here  in  town  all  right — onpleasant  and  somewhat  ex 
pensive,  like  potater-bugs.  But  you  seem  to  have  gone  to 
pushin'  him  and  have  turned  him  from  potater-bug  into  a 
royal  Peeruvian  tiger,  or  words  to  that  effect,  and  I  don't 
see  any  way  but  what  you'll  have  to  tame  him  yourself. 
There's  feelin'  in  town  that  way,  and  people  are  scart,  and 
citizens  ain't  at  all  pleased  with  your  pokin'  him  up,  when 
all  was  quiet." 

"Citizens  ruther  have  it  said,  hey,  that  we  are  supportin' 
a  land-pirut  here  in  this  town,  and  let  him  disgrace  us  even 
over  in  Vienny  ?"  demanded  the  Cap'n. 

"Which  was  wuss  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Snell,  serenely.  "As  it 
was  or  as  it  is  ?" 

Then  the  ex-constables,  driven  forth  with  contumely,  went 
across  to  the  platform  of  Broadway's  store,  and  discussed  the 
situation  with  other  citizens,  finding  the  opinion  quite  unan 
imous  that  Cap'n  Sproul  possessed  too  short  a  temper  to 
handle  delicate  matters  with  diplomacy.  And  it  was  agreed 
that  Aholiah  Luce,  weak  of  wit  and  morally  pernicious,  was 
a  delicate  matter,  when  all  sides  were  taken  into  account. 

To  them  appeared  Aholiah  Luce,  striding  down  the  mid 
dle  of  the  street,  with  that  ominous  sack  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Be  I  an  outlaw,  or  ain't  I  ?"  he  shouted  over  and  over, 
raising  a  clamor  in  the  quiet  village  that  brought  the  Cap'n 
out  of  the  town  house.  "Arrest  me,  will  ye  ?  When  ye  try 
it  there  won't  be  nothin'  left  of  this  town  but  a  hole  and  some 
hollerin'." 

He  walked  right  upon  the  store  platform  and  into  the 

364 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

store,  and  every  one  fled  before  him.  Broadway  cowered 
behind  his  counter. 

"Put  me  up  a  fig  o'  tobacker,  a  pound  of  tea,  quart  o' 
merlasses,  ten  pounds  of  crackers,  hunk  o'  pork,  and  two 
cans  of  them  salmons,"  he  ordered. 

In  past  years  Mr.  Luce  had  always  slunk  into  Broadway's 
store  apologetically,  a  store-bill  everlastingly  unpaid  oppress 
ing  his  spirits.  Now  he  bellowed  autocratic  command,  and 
his  soul  swelled  when  he  saw  Broadway  timorously  hastening 
to  obey. 

"I'll  show  'em  whuther  I'm  an  outlaw  or  not,"  he  mut 
tered.  "And  I  wisht  I'd  been  one  before,  if  it  works  like 
this.  The  monarch  of  the  Injies  couldn't  git  more  atten 
tion,"  he  reflected,  as  he  saw  the  usually  contemptuous 
Broadway  hustling  about,  wrapping  up  the  goods. 

He  saw  scared  faces  peering  in  at  him  through  the  win 
dows.  He  swung  the  sack  off  his  shoulder,  and  bumped  it 
on  the  floor  with  a  flourish. 

"My  Lord-amighty,  be  careful  with  that!"  squawked 
Broadway,  ducking  down  behind  the  counter. 

"You  'tend  to  business  and  make  less  talk,  and  you  won't 
git  hurt,"  observed  Mr.  Luce,  ferociously.  He  pointed  at 
the  storekeeper  the  stick  of  dynamite  that  he  carried  in  his 
hand.  And  Mr.  Broadway  hopped  up  and  bestirred  him 
self  obsequiously. 

"I  don't  know  whuther  I'll  ever  pay  for  these  or  not,"  an 
nounced  Mr.  Luce,  grabbing  the  bundles  that  Broadway 
poked  across  the  counter  as  gingerly  as  he  would  feed  meat 
to  a  tiger.  He  stuffed  them  into  his  sack.  "I  shall  do  jest 
as  I  want  to  about  it.  And  when  I've  et  up  this  grub  in  my 
lair,  where  I  propose  to  outlaw  it  for  a  while,  I  shall  come 
back  for  some  more;  and  if  I  don't  git  it,  along  with  polite 

365 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

treatment,  I'll  make  it  rain  groc'ries  in  this  section  for 
twenty- four  hours." 

"I  didn't  uphold  them  that  smashed  in  your  door,"  pro 
tested  the  storekeeper,  getting  behind  the  coffee-grinder. 

"I've  been  squdged  too  fur,  that's  what  has  been  done," 
declared  Mr.  Luce,  "and  it  was  your  seleckman  that  done 
it,  and  I  hold  the  whole  town  responsible.  I  don't  know 
what  I'm  li'ble  to  do  next.  I've  showed  him — now  I'm 
li'ble  to  show  the  town.  I  dunno!  It  depends." 

He  went  out  and  stood  on  the  store  platform,  and  gazed 
about  him  with  the  air  of  Alexander  on  the  banks  of  the 
Euphrates.  For  the  first  time  in  his  lowly  life  Mr.  Luce 
saw  mankind  shrink  from  before  him.  It  was  the  same  as 
deference  would  have  seemed  to  a  man  who  had  earned  re 
spect,  and  the  little  mind  of  Smyrna's  outlaw  whirled  dizzily 
in  his  filbert  skull. 

"I  don't  know  what  I'll  do  yit,"  he  shouted,  hailing  cer 
tain  faces  that  he  saw  peering  at  him.  "It  was  your  seleck 
man  that  done  it — and  a  seleckman  acts  for  a  town.  I 
reckon  I  shall  do  some  more  blowin'  up." 

He  calmly  walked  away  up  the  street,  passing  Cap'n 
Sproul,  who  stood  at  one  side. 

"I  don't  dast  to  be  an  outlaw,  hey  ?"  jeered  Mr.  Luce. 

"You  don't  dare  to  set  down  that  sack,"  roared  the  select 
man.  "I'll  pay  ye  five  hundred  dollars  to  set  down  that 
sack  and  step  out  there  into  the  middle  of  that  square — and 
I  call  on  all  here  as  witnesses  to  that  offer,"  he  cried,  noting 
that  citizens  were  beginning  to  creep  back  into  sight  once 
more.  "Five  hundred  dollars  for  you,  you  bow-legged  hen- 
thief!  You  sculpin-mouthed  hyena,  blowing  up  men's 
property!" 

"Hold  on,"  counselled  Mr.  Luce.  "You're  goin'  to 

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THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

squdgin'  me  ag'in.  I've  been  sassed  enough  in  this  town. 
I'm  goin'  to  be  treated  with  respect  after  this  if  I  have  to 
blow  up  ev'ry  buildin'  in  it." 

"It  ain't  safe  to  go  to  pokin'  him  up,"  advised  Mr.  Nute 
from  afar.  "I  should  think  you'd  'a'  found  that  out  by  this 
time,  Cap'n  Sproul." 

"I've  found  out  that  what  ain't  cowards  here  are  thieves," 
roared  the  Cap'n,  beside  himself,  ashamed,  enraged  at  his 
impotence  before  this  boastful  fool  and  his  grim  bulwark. 
His  impulse  was  to  cast  caution  to  the  winds  and  rush  upon 
Luce.  But  reflection  told  him  that,  in  this  flush  of  his 
childish  resentment  and  new  prominence,  Luce  was  capable 
of  anything.  Therefore  he  prudently  held  to  the  side  of  the 
road. 

"The  next  time  I  come  into  this  village,"  said  Mr.  Luce, 
"I  don't  propose  to  be  called  names  in  public  by  any  old 
salt  hake  that  has  pounded  his  dollars  out  of  unfort'nit' 
sailors  with  belayin'-pins.  I  know  your  record,  and  I  ain't 
afeard  of  you!" 

"There'll  be  worse  things  happen  to  you  than  to  be  called 
names." 

"Oh,  there  will,  hey  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Luce,  his  weak  pas 
sion  flaming.  "Well,  lemme  give  you  jest  one  hint  that  it 
ain't  safe  to  squdge  me  too  fur!" 

He  walked  back  a  little  way,  lighted  the  fuse  of  the  stick 
of  dynamite  that  he  carried,  and  in  spite  of  horrified  appeals 
to  him,  cast  over  the  shoulders  of  fleeing  citizens,  he  tossed 
the  wicked  explosive  into  the  middle  of  the  square  and  ran. 

In  the  words  of  Mr.  Snell,  when  he  came  out  from  behind 
the  watering-trough:  "It  was  a  corn-cracker!" 

A  half-hour  later  Mr.  Nute,  after  sadly  completing  a  can 
vass  of  the  situation,  headed  a  delegation  that  visited  Cap'n 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Sproul  in  the  selectman's  office,  where  he  sat,  pallid  with 
rage,  and  cursing. 

"A  hundred  and  seventeen  lights  of  glass,"  announced 
Mr.  Nute,  "includin'  the  front  stained-glass  winder  in  the 
meetin'-house  and  the  big  light  in  Broadway's  store.  And 
it  all  happened  because  the  critter  was  poked  up  agin' — and 
I  warned  ye  not  to  do  it,  Cap'n." 

"Would  it  be  satisfactory  to  the  citizens  if  I  pulled  my 
wallet  and  settled  the  damage  ?"  inquired  the  first  selectman, 
with  baleful  blandness  in  his  tones. 

Mr.  Nute  did  not  possess  a  delicate  sense  of  humor  or  of 
satire.  He  thoughtfully  rubbed  his  nose. 

"Reely,"  he  said,  "when  you  git  it  reduced  right  down, 
that  critter  ain't  responsible  any  more'n  one  of  them  dynamite 
sticks  is  responsible,  and  if  it  hadn't  been  for  you  lettin'  him 
loose  and  then  pokin'  him,  contrary  to  warnin',  them  hun 
dred  and  seventeen  lights  of  glass  wouldn't — 

"Are  there  any  left?"  asked  Cap'n  Sproul,  still  in  sub 
dued  tones. 

"About  as  many  more,  I  should  jedge,"  replied  Mr.  Nute. 

"Well,  I  simply  want  to  say,"  remarked  the  Cap'n,  stand 
ing  up  and  clinching  his  fists,  "that  if  you  ever  mention  re 
sponsibility  to  me  again,  Nute,  I'll  take  you  by  the  heels  and 
smash  in  the  rest  of  that  glass  with  you — and  I'll  do  the  same 
with  any  one  else  who  don't  know  enough  to  keep  his  yawp 
shut.  Get  out  of  here,  the  whole  of  you,  or  I'll  begin  on 
what  glass  is  left  in  this  town  house." 

They  departed  silently,  awed  by  the  menace  of  his  coun 
tenance,  but  all  the  more  bitterly  fixed  in  their  resentment. 

That  night  two  more  hollow  "chunks"  shook  the  ground 
of  Smyrna,  at  intervals  an  hour  separated,  and  morning 
light  showed  that  two  isolated  barns  had  been  destroyed. 

368 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Mr.  Luce  appeared  in  the  village  with  his  sack,  quite  at 
his  ease,  and  demanded  of  Broadway  certain  canned  deli 
cacies,  his  appetite  seeming  to  have  a  finer  edge  to  correspond 
with  his  rising  courage.  He  even  hinted  that  Broadway's 
stock  was  not  very  complete,  and  that  some  early  straw 
berries  might  soften  a  few  of  the  asperities  of  his  nature. 

"I  ain't  never  had  a  fair  show  on  eatin',"  he  complained 
to  the  apprehensive  storekeeper.  "It's  been  ten  years  that 
my  wife  ain't  got  me  a  fair  and  square  meal  o'  vittles.  She 
don't  believe  in  cookin'  nothin'  ahead  nor  gettin'  up  any 
thing  decent.  She's  a  Go-upper  and  thinks  the  end  of  the 
world  is  li'ble  to  come  any  minit.  And  the  way  I  figger  it, 
not  havin'  vittles  reg'lar  has  give  me  dyspepsy,  and  dyspepsy 
has  made  me  cranky,  and  not  safe  to  be  squdged  too  fur. 
And  that's  the  whole  trouble.  I've  got  a  hankerin'  for 
strorb'ries.  They  may  make  me  more  supple.  P'raps  not, 
but  it's  wuth  tryin'." 

He  tossed  the  cans  into  his  sack  in  a  perfectly  reckless 
manner,  until  Broadway  was  sick  and  hiccuping  with  fear. 
"Love  o'  Lordy,"  he  pleaded,  "don't  act  that  way.  It's 
apt  to  go  off — go  off  any  time.  I  know  the  stuff  better'n 
you  do — I've  dealt  in  it.  Ain't  I  usin'  you  square  on 
goods  ?" 

"Mebbe  so,"  admitted  Mr.  Luce.  "Fur's  you  know,  you 
are.  But  the  trouble  with  me  is  my  disposition.  It  ain't 
been  made  supple  yet.  If  you've  got  in  stock  what  my  ap 
petite  craves  I  may  be  more  supple  next  time  I  come." 

He  dug  a  tender  strip  out  of  the  centre  of  a  hanging  cod 
fish,  and  walked  out.  Parading  his  ease  of  spirits  and  con 
tempt  for  humanity  in  general,  he  stood  on  the  platform 
and  gnawed  at  the  fish  and  gazed  serenely  on  the  broken 
windows. 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"I  done  it,"  he  mumbled,  admiringly.  "'I  showed  'em! 
It  won't  take  much  more  showin',  and  then  they'll  let  me 
alone,  and  I'll  live  happy  ever  after.  Wonder  is  I  hadn't 
reelized  it  before.  Tail  up,  and  everybody  stands  to  one 
side.  Tail  down,  and  everybody  is  tryin'  to  kick  you.  If 
it  wa'n't  for  that  streak  in  human  nature  them  devilish 
trusts  that  I've  heard  tell  of  couldn't  live  a  minit."  He  saw 
men  standing  afar  and  staring  at  him  apprehensively. 
"That's  right,  ding  baste  ye,"  he  said,  musingly,  "look  up 
to  me  and  keep  your  distance!  It  don't  make  no  gre't 
diff'runce  how  it's  done,  so  long  as  I  can  do  it." 

And  after  further  triumphant  survey  of  the  situation,  he 
went  away. 

"Hiram,"  said  Cap'n  Sproul,  with  decision,  turning  from 
a  long  survey  of  Mr.  Luce's  retreating  back  through  a 
broken  window  of  the  town  house,  "this  thing  has  gone  jest 
as  far  as  it's  goin'." 

"Well,"  declared  the  showman  with  some  bitterness,  "to 
have  them  that's  in  authority  stand  round  here  and  let  one 
bow-legged  lunatic  blow  up  this  whole  town  piecemeal  ain't 
in  any  ways  satisfyin'  to  the  voters.  I  hear  the  talk,  and 
I'm  givin'  it  to  you  straight  as  a  friend." 

"I've  got  my  plan  all  made,"  said  the  first  selectman. 
"I  want  you  as  foreman  to  call  out  the  Ancient  and  Hon- 
er'ble  Firemen's  Association  and  have  'em  surround  them 
woods,  and  we'll  take  him." 

"We  will,  hey  ?"  demanded  Hiram,  pushing  back  his  plug 
hat  and  squinting  angrily.  "What  do  you  think  that  fire 
men's  association  is  for,  anyway  ?" 

"Never  knew  it  to  do  anything  but  eat  free  picnics  and 
give  social  dances,"  retorted  the  Cap'n.  "I  didn't  know 
but  it  was  willin'  to  be  useful  for  once  in  its  life." 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"Slur  noted!"  said  Hiram,  with  acerbity.  "But  you 
can't  expect  us  to  pull  you  out  of  a  hole  that  you've  mis 
managed  yourself  into.  You  needn't  flare,  now,  Cap'n. 
It's  been  mismanaged,  and  that's  the  sentiment  of  the  town. 
I  ain't  twittin'  you  because  I've  lost  property.  I'm  talkin' 
as  a  friend." 

"That's  twice  this  mornin'  you've  passed  me  that  'friend' 
handbill,"  raged  the  selectman.  "Advertisin'  yourself,  be 
ye  ?  And  then  leavin'  me  in  the  lurch!  This  is  a  friendly 
town,  that's  what  it  is.  Constables,  voters,  firemen,  and 
you  yourself  dump  the  whole  burden  of  this  onto  me,  and 
then  stand  back  and  growl  at  me!  Well,  if  this  thing  is  up 
to  me  alone  and  friendless  and  single-handed,  I  know  what 
I'm  goin'  to  do!"  His  tone  had  the  grate  of  file  against 
steel. 

"What?"  inquired  his  friend  with  interest. 

"Get  a  gun  and  go  out  and  drop  that  humpbacked  old 
Injy-cracker!" 

But  Hiram  protested  fervently. 

"Where  would  you  shoot  him?"  he  cried.  "You  don't 
know  where  to  find  him  in  them  woods.  You'd  have  to 
nail  him  here  in  the  village,  and  besides  its  bein'  murder 
right  in  the  face  and  eyes  of  folks,  you'd  put  a  bullet  into 
that  sack  o'  dynamite  and  blow  ev'ry  store,  meetin'-house, 
and  school-house  in  Smyrna  off'm  the  map.  You  give  that 
up,  or  I'll  pass  the  word  and  have  you  arrested,  yourself,  as 
a  dangerous  critter." 

He  went  away,  still  protesting  as  long  as  he  was  in  hearing. 

Cap'n  Sproul  sat  despondent  in  his  chair,  and  gazed 
through  the  broken  window  at  other  broken  windows.  Ex- 
Constable  Nute  presented  himself  at  the  pane  outside  and 
said,  nervously  chewing  tobacco:  "I  reckon  it's  the  only 
25  371 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

thing  that  can  be  done  now,  Cap'n.     It  seems  to  be  the 
general  sentiment." 

With  a  flicker  of  hope  irradiating  his  features,  Cap'n 
Sproul  inquired  for  details. 

"It's  to  write  to  the  President  and  get  him  to  send  down 
a  hunk  of  the  United  States  Army.  You've  got  to  fight  fire 
with  fire." 

Without  particular  display  of  passion,  with  the  numb 
stolidity  of  one  whose  inner  fires  have  burned  out,  the  select 
man  got  up  and  threw  a  cuspidor  through  the  window  at  his 
counsellor,  and  then  seated  himself  to  his  pondering  once 
more. 

That  afternoon  Mrs.  Aholiah  Luce  came  walking  into  the 
village,  spent,  forlorn,  and  draggled.  She  went  straight  to 
the  town  office,  and  seated  herself  in  front  of  the  musing 
first  selectman. 

"I've  come  to  call  on  for  town  help,"  she  said.  "I  have 
n't  got  scrap  nor  skred  to  eat,  and  northin'  to  cook  it  with. 
You've  gone  to  work  and  put  us  in  a  pretty  mess,  Mister 
S'leckman.  Makin'  my  husband  an  outlaw  that's  took  to 
the  woods,  and  me  left  on  the  chips!" 

The  Cap'n  surveyed  her  without  speaking — apparently 
too  crushed  to  make  any  talk.  In  addition  to  other  plagues, 
it  was  now  plain  that  he  had  brought  a  pauper  upon  the 
town  of  Smyrna. 

"So  I  call  on,"  she  repeated,  "and  I  need  a  whole  new 
stock  of  groc'ries,  and  something  to  cook  'em  with." 

And  still  the  Cap'n  did  not  speak.  He  sat  considering 
her,  his  brows  knitted. 

"I'm  a  proud  woman  nat'rally,"  she  went  on,  "and  it's 
tough  to  have  to  call  on  'cause  the  crowned  heads  of  earth 
has  oppressed  the  meek  and  the  lowly." 

372 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Cap'n  Sproul  trudged  across  the  room,  and  took  down  a 
big  book  inscribed  "Revised  Statutes."  He  found  a  place 
in  the  volume  and  began  to  read  in  an  undertone,  occasion 
ally  looking  over  his  specs  at  her. 

"It's  as  I  thought  it  was,"  he  muttered;  "when  one  mem 
ber  of  a  family,  wife  or  minor  children,  call  on  for  town  aid, 
whole  family  can  be  declared  paupers  till  such  time  as,  and 
so  forth."  He  banged  the  big  book  shut.  "Interestin'  if 
true — and  found  to  be  true.  Law  to  use  as  needed.  So  you 
call  on,  do  you,  marm  ?"  he  queried,  raising  his  voice. 

"Well,  if  you're  all  ready  to  start  for  the  poor-farm,  come 

i        " 
along. 

"I  ain't  goin'  onto  no  poor-farm,"  she  squealed.  "I  call 
on,  but  I  want  supplies  furnished." 

"Overseer  of  the  poor  has  the  say  as  to  what  shall  be  done 
with  paupers,"  announced  the  Cap'n.  "I  say  poor-farm. 
They  need  a  good,  able-bodied  pauper  woman  there,  like  you 
seem  to  be.  The  other  wimmen  paupers  are  bedridden." 

"My  husband  will  never  let  me  be  took  to  the  poorhouse 
and  kept  there." 

"Oh,  there  ain't  goin'  to  be  any  trouble  from  that  side. 
You're  right  in  line  to  be  a  widder  most  any  time  now." 

"Be  you  goin'  to  kill  'Liah  ?"  she  wailed. 

"It  will  be  a  self-actin'  proposition,  marm.  I  ain't  got 
any  very  special  grudge  against  him,  seein'  that  he's  a  poor, 
unfortunate  critter.  I'm  sorry,  but  so  it  is."  He  went  on 
with  great  appearance  of  candor.  "You  see,  he  don't  un 
derstand  the  nature  of  that  stuff  he's  luggin'  round.  It  goes 
off  itself  when  it  gets  about  so  warm.  It's  comin'  warmin' 
weather  now — sun  gettin'  high — and  mebbe  next  time  he 
starts  for  the  village  the  bust  will  come." 

"Ain't  any  one  goin'  to  warn  him?" 
373 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"I  can't  find  it's  set  down  in  my  duties,  marm;  and  from 
the  acts  of  the  gen'ral  run  of  cowards  in  this  town  I  don't 
reckon  any  one  else  will  feel  called  on  to  get  near  enough  to 
him  to  tell  him.  Oh  no!  He'll  fire  himself  like  an  auto 
matic  bomb.  Prob'ly  to-morrow.  By  the  looks  of  the  sky 
it's  goin'  to  be  a  nice,  warm  day." 

She  backed  to  the  door,  her  eyes  goggling. 

"I  ain't  got  any  hard  feelin's  at  all,  marm.  I  pity  you, 
and  here's  a  ten-dollar  bill  that  I'll  advance  from  the  town. 
I  reckon  I'll  wait  till  after  you're  a  widder  before  I  take  you 
to  the  poorhouse." 

She  clutched  the  bill  and  ran  out.  He  watched  her  scurry 
down  the  street  with  satisfaction  wrinkling  under  his  beard. 
"It  was  a  kind  of  happy  idee  and  it  seems  to  be  workin'," 
he  observed.  "I've  allus  thought  I  knew  enough  about 
cowards  to  write  a  book  on  'em.  We'll  see!" 

That  night  there  were  no  alarms  in  Smyrna.  Cap'n 
Sproul,  walking  to  his  office  the  next  forenoon,  mentally 
scored  one  on  the  right  side  of  his  calculations. 

When  he  heard  Mr.  Luce  in  the  village  square  and  looked 
out  on  him,  he  scored  two,  still  on  the  right  side.  Mr.  Luce 
bore  his  grisly  sack,  but  he  did  not  carry  a  stick  of  dynamite 
in  his  hand. 

"Goin'  to  put  my  wife  in  the  poorhouse,  hey?"  he 
squalled. 

Cap'n  Sproul  scored  three.  "She  got  at  him  and  un 
loaded!"  he  murmured.  "And  it  fixed  him,  if  I  know 
cowards." 

"  She's  goin'  to  be  a  widder,  hey  ?  I'm  afeard  o'  daminite, 
hey  ?  I'll  show  ye!"  He  swung  the  sack  from  his  shoulder, 
and  held  it  up  in  both  hands  for  the  retreating  populace  to 
see.  "I  jest  as  soon  flam  this  whole  thing  down  here  in  the 

374 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

ro'd.  I  jest  as  soon  kick  it.  I  jest  as  soon  set  on  it  and 
smoke  my  pipe.  I'm  an  outlaw  and  I  ain't  afeard  of  it. 
You  use  me  right  and  let  my  wife  alone,  or  I'll  show  ye." 

Cap'n  Sproul,  sailor-habit  always  strong  with  him,  had 
for  a  long  time  kept  one  of  his  telescopes  hanging  beside 
a  window  in  the  town  office.  He  took  this  down  and  studied 
the  contour  of  the  bumps  that  swelled  Mr.  Luce's  sack. 
His  survey  seemed  to  satisfy  him.  "Tone  of  his  talk  is 
really  enough — but  the  shape  of  that  bag  settles  it  with  me." 

The  next  moment  all  of  Smyrna  that  happened  to  be  in 
sight  of  the  scene  gasped  with  horror  on  beholding  the  first 
selectman  walk  out  of  the  town  house  and  stalk  directly 
across  the  square  toward  the  dynamiter. 

"You  go  back,"  screamed  Mr.  Luce,  "or  I'll  flam  it!" 

But  no  longer  was  Mr.  Luce's  tone  dauntless  and  fero 
cious.  The  Cap'n's  keen  ear  caught  the  coward's  note  of 
querulousness,  for  he  had  heard  that  note  many  times  before 
in  his  stormy  association  with  men.  He  chuckled  and 
walked  on  more  briskly. 

"I'll  do  it — I  swear  I  will!"  said  Mr.  Luce,  but  his  voice 
was  only  a  weak  piping. 

In  spite  of  itself  Smyrna  stopped,  groaned,  and  squatted 
where  it  stood  when  Mr.  Luce  swung  the  sack  and  launched 
it  at  the  intrepid  selectman.  As  he  threw  it,  the  outlaw 
turned  to  run.  The  Cap'n  grabbed  the  sack,  catapulted  it 
back,  and  caught  the  fleeing  Mr.  Luce  squarely  between  the 
shoulders;  and  he  went  down  on  his  face  with  a  yell  of  pain. 
The  next  moment  Smyrna  saw  her  first  selectman  kicking  a 
bleating  man  around  and  around  the  square  until  the  man 
got  down,  lifted  up  his  hands,  and  bawled  for  mercy. 

And  when  Smyrna  flocked  around,  the  Cap'n  faced  them, 
his  fist  twisted  in  Mr.  Luce's  collar. 

375 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"This  critter  belongs  in  State  Prison,  but  I  ain't  goin'  to 
send  him  there.  He's  goin'  onto  our  poor-farm,  and  he's 
goin'  to  work  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  and  he'll  keep  to 
work  till  he  works  up  some  of  the  bill  he  owes  this  town. 
He's  a  pauper  because  his  wife  has  called  on.  But  I  ain't 
dependin'  on  law.  I'm  runnin'  this  thing  myself.  I've 
shown  ye  that  I  can  run  it.  And  if  any  of  you  quitters  and 
cowards  have  got  anything  to  say  why  my  sentence  won't  be 
carried  out,  now  is  the  time  to  say  it." 

He  glowered  into  their  faces,  but  no  one  said  anything  ex 
cept  Zeburee  Nute,  who  quavered:  "We  allus  knowedyou 
was  the  smartest  man  that  ever  came  to  this  town,  and — 

"Close  that  mouth!"  yelped  Cap'n  Sproul.  "It's  worse 
than  an  open  hatch  on  a  superphosphate  schooner." 

"You  dare  to  leave  that  town  farm,  you  or  your  wife 
either,"  the  selectman  went  on,  giving  Mr.  Luce  a  vigorous 
shake,  "and  I'll  have  you  in  State  Prison  as  quick  as  a  grand 
jury  can  indict.  Nute,  you  hitch  and  take  him  down  there, 
and  tell  the  boss  he's  to  work  ten  hours  a  day,  with  one 
hour's  noonin',  and  if  he  don't  move  fast  enough,  to  get  at 
him  with  a  gad." 

Mr.  Luce,  cowed,  trembling,  appealing  dumbly  for  sym 
pathy,  was  driven  away  while  the  first  selectman  was  picking 
up  the  sack  that  still  lay  in  the  village  square.  Without  a 
moment's  hesitation  he  slit  it  with  his  big  knife,  and  emptied 
its  contents  into  a  hole  that  the  spring  frosts  had  left.  Those 
contents  were  simply  rocks. 

"In  the  name  of  Joanthus  Cicero!"  gasped  Broadway, 
licking  his  dry  lips.  "How  did  you  figger  it  ?" 

The  Cap'n  finished  kicking  the  sack  down  into  the  hole 
beside  the  rocks,  clacked  shut  his  knife-blade,  and  rammed 
the  knife  deep  into  his  trousers  pocket. 

376 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"When  you  critters  here  in  town  get  to  be  grown  up  to  be 
more  than  ten  years  old,"  he  grunted,  surveying  the  gaping 
graybeards  of  Smyrna,  "and  can  understand  man's  business, 
I  may  talk  to  you.  Just  now  I've  got  something  to  attend 
to  besides  foolishness." 

And  he  trudged  back  into  the  town  house,  with  his  fellow- 
citizens  staring  after  him,  as  the  populace  of  Rome  must  have 
stared  after  victorious  Caesar. 


XXXI 

OR  some  weeks  the  town  of  Smyrna  had  been 
witnessing  something  very  like  a  bear-baiting. 
Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul,  first  selectman,  again 
played  the  role  of  the  bear,  as  he  had  on  occa 
sions  previous. 
They  had  stalked  him;  they  had  flanked  him;  they  had 
surrounded  him;  they  had  driven  him  to  centre;  he  was  at 
bay,  bristling  with  a  sullen  rage  that  was  excusable,  if  viewed 
from  the  standpoint  of  an  earnest  town  officer.  Viewed 
from  the  standpoint  of  the  populace,  he  was  a  selfish,  cross- 
grained  old  obstructionist. 

Here  was  the  situation :  By  thrift  and  shrewd  management 
he  had  accumulated  during  his  reign  nearly  enough  funds 
to  pay  off"  the  town  debt  and  retire  interest-bearing  notes. 
He  had  proposed  to  make  that  feat  the  boast  and  the  crown 
ing  point  of  his  tenure  of  office.  He  had  announced  that  on 
a  certain  day  he  would  have  a  bonfire  of  those  notes  in  the 
village  square.  After  that  announcement  he  had  listened 
for  plaudits.  What  he  did  hear  were  resentful  growls  from 
taxpayers  who  now  discovered  that  they  had  been  assessed 
more  than  the  running  expenses  of  the  town  called  for;  and 
they  were  mad  about  it.  The  existence  of  that  surplus 
seemed  to  worry  Smyrna.  There  were  many  holders  of 
town  notes  for  small  amounts,  a  safe  investment  that  paid 
six  per  cent,  and  escaped  taxation.  These  people  didn't 

378 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

want  to  be  paid.  In  many  cases  their  fathers  had  loaned 
the  money  to  the  town,  and  the  safe  and  sound  six  per  cent, 
seemed  an  heirloom  too  sacred  to  be  disturbed. 

Cap'n  Sproul's  too-zealous  thrift  annoyed  his  townsmen. 
To  have  the  town  owe  money  made  individual  debtors  feel 
that  owing  money  was  not  a  particularly  heinous  offence. 
To  have  the  town  free  of  debt  might  start  too  enterprising 
rivalry  in  liquidation. 

Therefore,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  "Consetena  Tate 
found  one  of  his  wild  notions  adopted,  and  gasped  in  pro 
found  astonishment  at  the  alacrity  of  his  townsmen.  Con 
setena  Tate  had  unwittingly  stumbled  upon  a  solution  of 
that  "surplus"  difficulty.  He  wasn't  thinking  of  the  sur 
plus.  He  was  too  utterly  impractical  for  that.  He  was  a 
tall,  gangling,  effeminate,  romantic,  middle-aged  man  whom 
his  parents  still  supported  and  viewed  with  deference  as 
a  superior  personality.  He  was  Smyrna's  only  literary 
character. 

He  made  golden  weddings  gay  with  lengthy  epics  that 
detailed  the  lives  of  the  celebrants;  he  brought  the  dubious 
cheer  of  his  verses  to  house-warmings,  church  sociables,  and 
other  occasions  when  Smyrna  found  itself  in  gregarious 
mood;  he  soothed  the  feelings  of  mourners  by  obituary  lines 
that  appeared  in  print  in  the  county  paper  when  the  mourn 
ers  ordered  enough  extra  copies  to  make  it  worth  the  editor's 
while.  Added  to  this  literary  gift  was  an  artistic  one.  Con 
setena  had  painted  half  a  dozen  pictures  that  were  displayed 
every  year  at  the  annual  show  of  the  Smyrna  Agricultural 
Fair  and  Gents'  Driving  Association;  therefore,  admiring 
relatives  accepted  Mr.  Tate  as  a  genius,  and  treated  him  as 
such  with  the  confident  prediction  that  some  day  the  outside 
world  would  know  him  and  appreciate  him. 

379 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

A  flicker  of  this  coming  fame  seemed  to  dance  on  Con- 
setena's  polished  brow  when  he  wrote  a  piece  for  the  county 
paper,  heralding  the  fact  that  Smyrna  was  one  hundred 
years  old  that  year. 

Mr.  Tate,  having  plenty  of  leisure  to  meditate  on  those 
matters,  had  thought  of  this  fact  before  any  one  else  in  town 
remembered  it.  He  wrote  another  article  urging  that  the 
town  fittingly  celebrate  the  event.  The  Women's  Tem 
perance  Workers  discussed  the  matter  and  concurred.  It 
would  give  them  an  opportunity  to  have  a  tent-sale  of  food 
and  fancy-work,  and  clear  an  honest  penny. 

The  three  churches  in  town  came  into  the  project  heartily. 
They  would  "dinner"  hungry  strangers  in  the  vestries,  and 
also  turn  an  honest  penny.  The  Smyrna  Ancient  and 
Honorable  Firemen's  Association,  Hiram  Look  foreman, 
was  very  enthusiastic.  A  celebration  would  afford  oppor 
tunity  to  parade  and  hold  a  muster. 

The  three  uniformed  secret  societies  in  town,  having  an 
ever-lurking  zest  for  public  exhibition  behind  a  brass-band, 
canvassed  the  prospect  delightedly.  The  trustees  of  the 
Agricultural  Fair  and  Gents'  Driving  Association  could  see 
a  most  admirable  opening  for  a  June  horse-trot. 

In  fact,  with  those  inducements  and  with  motives  regard 
ing  the  "surplus"  spurring  them  on  secretly,  all  the  folks 
of  Smyrna  rose  to  the  occasion  with  a  long,  loud  shout  for 
the  celebration — and  suggested  that  the  "surplus"  be  ex 
pended  in  making  a  holiday  that  would  be  worth  waiting  one 
hundred  years  for. 

After  that  shout,  and  as  soon  as  he  got  his  breath,  the  voice 
of  First  Selectman  Aaron  Sproul  was  heard.  He  could  not 
make  as  much  noise  as  the  others,  but  the  profusion  of  ex 
pletives  with  which  he  garnished  his  declaration  that  the 

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town's  money  should  not  be  spent  that  way  made  his  talk 
well  worth  listening  to. 

It  was  then  that  the  bear-baiting  began. 

Every  society,  every  church,  every  organization  in  town 
got  after  him,  and  Hiram  Look — a  betrayal  of  long  friend 
ship  that  touched  the  Cap'n's  red  anger  into  white  heat — 
captained  the  whole  attack. 

The  final  clinch  was  in  the  town  office,  the  Cap'n  at  bay 
like  the  boar  in  its  last  stronghold,  face  livid  and  hairy  fists 
flailing  the  scattered  papers  of  his  big  table.  But  across 
the  table  was  Hiram  Look,  just  as  intense,  the  unterrified 
representative  of  the  proletariat,  his  finger  jabbing  the 
air. 

"That  money  was  paid  into  the  treasury  o'  this  town  by 
the  voters,"  he  shouted,  "and,  by  the  Sussanified  heifer  o' 
Nicodemus,  it  can  be  spent  by  'em!  You're  talkin'  as 
though  it  was  your  own  private  bank-account." 

"I  want  you  to  understand,"  the  Cap'n  shouted  back  with 
just  as  much  vigor — "it  ain't  any  jack-pot,  nor  table-stakes, 
nor  prize  put  up  for  a  raffle.  It's  town  money,  and  I'm 
runnin'  this  town." 

"Do  you  think  you're  an  Emp'ror  Nero?"  inquired 
Hiram,  sarcastically.  "And  even  that  old  cuss  wa'n't  so 
skin-tight  as  you  be.  He  provided  sports  for  the  people, 
and  it  helped  him  hold  his  job.  Hist'ry  tells  you  so." 

"There  ain't  any  hist'ry  about  this,"  the  selectman  re 
torted  with  emphasis.  "It's  here,  now,  present,  and  up  to 
date.  And  I  can  give  you  the  future  if  you  want  any  pre 
dictions.  That  money  ain't  goin'  to  be  throwed  down  a  rat- 
hole  in  any  such  way." 

"Look  here,  Cap'n  Sproul,"  said  the  showman,  grinding 
his  words  between  his  teeth,  "you've  been  talkin'  for  a  year 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

past  that  they'd  pushed  this  job  of  selectman  onto  you,  and 
that  you  didn't  propose  to  hold  it." 

"  Mebbe  I  did,"  agreed  the  Cap'n.  "  Most  like  I  did,  for 
that's  the  way  I  feel  about  it." 

"Then  s'pose  you  resign  and  let  me  take  the  job  and  run 
it  the  way  it  ought  to  be  run  ?" 

"How  would  that  be — a  circus  every  week-day  and  a 
sacred  concert  Sundays  ?  Judging  from  your  past  life  and 
your  present  talk  I  don't  reckon  you'd  know  how  to  run 
anything  any  different!"  This  taunt  as  to  his  life-work  in 
the  show  business  and  his  capability  stirred  all  of  Hiram's 
venom. 

"I've  come  here  to  tell  ye,"  he  raged,  "that  the  citizens 
of  this  town  to  a  man  want  ye  to  resign  as  first  selectman,  and 
let  some  one  in  that  don't  wear  brustles  and  stand  with  both 
feet  in  the  trough." 

"That's  just  the  reason  I  won't  resign — because  they  want 
me  to,"  returned  the  Cap'n  with  calm  decisiveness.  "They 
got  behind  me  when  I  wasn't  lookin',  and  picked  me  up  and 
rammed  me  into  this  office,  and  I've  been  wantin'  to  get  out 
ever  since.  But  I'll  be  cussed  if  I'll  get  out,  now  that  they're 
tryin'  to  drive  me  out.  I'm  interested  enough  now  to  stay." 

"Say,  did  you  ever  try  to  drive  a  hog?"  demanded  the 
irate  old  circus-man. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Cap'n,  imperturbably,  "I'm  tryin'  it  now 
— tryin'  to  drive  a  whole  litter  of  'em  away  from  the  trough 
where  they  want  to  eat  up  at  one  meal  what  it's  taken  me  a 
whole  year  to  scrape  together." 

Persiflage  of  this  sort  did  not  appear  to  be  accomplishing 
anything.  Hiram  relieved  his  feelings  by  a  smacking,  round 
oath  and  stamped  out  of  the  town-house. 

As  they  had  done  once  before  in  the  annals  of  his  office, 

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the  other  two  selectmen  made  a  party  with  Sproul's  op- 
posers.  They  signed  a  call  for  a  special  town-meeting.  It 
was  held,  and  an  uproarious  viva-voce  vote  settled  the  fate 
of  the  surplus.  In  the  rush  of  popular  excitement  the  voters 
did  not  stop  to  reflect  on  the  legal  aspects  of  the  question. 
Law  would  not  have  sanctioned  such  a  disposal  of  town 
money,  even  with  such  an  overwhelming  majority  behind 
the  movement.  But  Cap'n  Sproul  still  held  to  his  ancient 
and  ingrained  fear  of  lawyers.  He  remained  away  from 
the  meeting  and  let  matters  take  their  course. 

Hiram,  still  captain  of  the  revolutionists,  felt  his  heart 
grow  softer  in  victory.  Furthermore,  Cap'n  Sproul,  left  out 
side  the  pale,  might  conquer  dislike  of  law  and  invoke  an 
injunction. 

The  next  morning,  bright  and  early,  he  trudged  over  to 
the  first  selectman's  house  and  bearded  the  sullen  autocrat 
in  his  sitting-room.  He  felt  that  the  peace  of  the  Cap'n's 
home  was  better  suited  to  be  the  setting  of  overtures  of 
friendship  than  the  angular  interior  of  the  town  office. 

"Cap,"  he  said,  appealingly,  "they've  gone  and  done  it, 
and  all  the  sentiment  of  the  town  is  one  way  in  the  matter. 
What's  the  use  of  buckin'  your  own  people  as  you  are  doin'  ? 
Get  onto  the  band-wagon  along  with  the  rest  of  us.  It's 
goin'  to  be  a  good  thing  for  the  town.  It  will  bring  a  lot  of 
spenders  in  here  that  day.  They'll  leave  money  here.  It 
will  be  a  good  time  all  'round.  It  will  give  the  town  a  good 
name.  Now,  that  money  is  goin'  to  be  spent!  I've  made 
you  chairman  of  the  whole  general  committee — as  first  se 
lectman.  You'll  have  the  principal  say  as  to  how  the 
money  is  goin'  to  be  spent.  As  long's  it's  goin'  to  be  spent 
that  ought  to  be  some  satisfaction  to  you." 

"You  take  that  money — you  and  your  gang  of  black- 

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THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

flaggers  that  has  captured  this  town  on  the  high  seas — and 
you  rub  it  onto  your  carkisses  where  it  will  do  the  most 
good,"  snorted  the  Cap'n.  "Light  cigars  with  it — feed  it 
to  your  elephant — send  it  up  in  a  balloon — I  don't  give  a 
kihooted  dam  what  you  do  with  it.  But  don't  you  try  to 
enlist  me  under  the  skull  and  cross-bones!" 

After  this  unpromising  fashion  did  the  conference  begin. 
It  was  in  progress  at  noon — and  Hiram  remained  to  dinner. 
Breaking  bread  with  a  friend  has  a  consolatory  effect — that 
cannot  be  denied.  When  they  were  smoking  after  dinner, 
the  first  selectman  grudgingly  consented  to  take  charge  of 
spending  the  money.  He  agreed  finally  with  Hiram  that 
with  him — the  Cap'n — on  the  safety-valve,  mere  wasteful 
folderols  mipht  be  avoided — and  the  first  selectman  had 

O 

seen  enough  of  the  temper  of  his  constituents  to  fear  for  con 
sequences  should  they  get  their  hands  into  the  treasury  when 
he  was  not  standing  by. 

"Now,'5  said  Hiram,  in  conclusion,  "the  committee  is 
well  organized.  There's  a  representative  from  each  of  the 
societies  in  town  to  act  with  you  and  advise." 

"I'd  ruther  try  to  steer  a  raft  of  lasned  hen-coops  from 
here  to  Bonis  Airs  and  back,  under  a  barkentine  rig," 
snapped  the  Cap'n.  "I  know  the  kind  o'  critters  they  be. 
We  won't  get  nowhere!" 

"I  had  to  put  'em  onto  the  committee,"  apologized  the 
people's  representative.  "But,  you  see,  you  and  the  secre 
tary  will  do  practically  all  the  work.  All  you've  got  to  do 
is  just  to  make  'em  think  they're  workin'.  But  you  and  the 
secretary  will  be  the  whole  thing." 

"Who  is  this  secretary  that  I've  got  to  chum  with  ?"  de 
manded  the  Cap'n,  suspiciously. 

"You  see" — Hiram  choked  and  blinked  his  eyes,  and 

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THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

looked  away  as  he  explained — "it  sort  of  had  to  be  done,  to 
please  the  people,  because  he's  the  feller  that  thought  it  up 
— and  he's  the  only  lit'ry  chap  we've  got  in  town,  and  he — 

Cap'n  Sproul  got  up  and  held  his  pipe  away  from  his  face 
so  that  no  smoke-cloud  could  intervene. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  he  raved,  "that  you've  gone  to 
work  and  pinned  me  into  the  same  yoke  with  that  long- 
legged  cross  between  a  blue  heron  and  a  monkey-wrench 
that  started  this  whole  infernal  treasury  steal  ?" 

"Consetena — "  began  Hiram. 

The  Cap'n  dashed  his  clay  pipe  upon  the  brick  hearth  and 
ground  the  bits  under  his  heel. 

"I  ain't  any  hand  to  make  love  to  Portygee  sailors,"  he 
cried;  "I  don't  believe  I  could  stand  it  to  hold  one  on  my 
knee  more'n  half  an  hour  at  a  time.  I  don't  like  a  dude.  I 
hate  a  land-pirut  lawyer.  But  a  critter  I've  al'ays  reckoned 
I'd  kill  on  sight  is  a  grown  man  that  writes  portry  and  lets 
his  folks  support  him.  I've  heard  of  that  Concert — what 
ever  his  name  is — Tate.  I  ain't  ever  wanted  to  see  him. 
I've  been  afraid  of  what  might  happen  if  I  did.  Him  and 
me  run  this  thing  together  ?  Say,  look  here,  Hiram!  You 
say  a  few  more  things  like  that  to  me  and  I  shall  reckon 
you're  tryin'  to  give  me  apoplexy  and  get  rid  of  me  that 
way!" 

Hiram  sighed.  His  car  of  hopes  so  laboriously  warped 
to  the  top  summit  of  success  had  been  sluiced  to  the  bottom. 
But  he  understood  the  temper  of  the  populace  of  Smyrna  in 
those  piping  days  better  than  Cap'n  Sproul  did.  Consetena 
Tate  was  not  to  be  put  aside  with  a  wave  of  the  hand. 

Hiram  began  again.  At  first  he  talked  to  deaf  ears.  He 
even  had  to  drown  out  contumely.  But  his  arguments  were 
good!  Consetena  Tate  could  write  the  many  letters  that 

385 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

would  be  necessary.  There  were  many  organizations  to  in 
vite  to  town,  many  prominent  citizens  of  the  county  to  so 
licit,  for  the  day  would  not  shine  without  the  presence  of 
notables.  There  was  all  the  work  of  that  sort  to  be  done 
with  the  delicate  touch  of  the  literary  man — work  that  the 
Cap'n  could  not  do.  Mr.  Tate  had  earned  the  position — • 
at  least  the  folks  in  town  thought  he  had — and  demanded 
him  as  the  man  through  whom  they  could  accomplish  all 
epistolary  effects. 

In  the  end  Hiram  won  the  Cap'n  over  even  to  this  conces 
sion.  The  Cap'n  was  too  weary  to  struggle  farther  against 
what  seemed  to  be  his  horrid  destiny. 

"I'll  have  him  at  town  office  to-morrow  mornin',"  de 
clared  Hiram,  grabbing  at  the  first  growl  that  signified  sub 
mission.  "You'll  find  him  meek  and  humble  and  helpful — 
I  know  you  will."  Then  he  promptly  hurried  away  before 
the  Cap'n  revived  enough  to  change  his  mind. 

Cap'n  Sproul  found  his  new  secretary  on  the  steps  of  the 
town  office  the  next  morning,  and  scowled  on  him.  Mr. 
Tate  wore  a  little  black  hat  cocked  on  his  shaggy  mane,  and 
his  thin  nose  was  blue  in  the  crisp  air  of  early  May.  He  sat 
on  the  steps  propping  a  big  portfolio  on  his  knees.  His  thin 
legs  outlined  themselves  against  his  baggy  trousers  with  the 
effect  of  broomsticks  under  cloth. 

He  arose  and  followed  the  sturdy  old  seaman  into  the 
office.  He  sat  down,  still  clinging  to  the  portfolio,  and 
watched  the  Cap'n  build  a  fire  in  the  rusty  stove.  The  se 
lectman  had  returned  no  answer  to  the  feeble  attempts  that 
Mr.  Tate  had  made  to  open  conversation. 

"Far  asunder  your  life  aims  and  my  life  aims  have  been, 
Cap'n  Sproul,"  observed  the  secretary  at  last.  "But  when 
ships  hail  each  other  out  of  the  darkness — " 

386 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"Three-stickers  don't  usually  luff  very  long  when  they're 
hailed  by  punts,"  grunted  the  old  skipper. 

"There  is  a  common  ground  on  which  all  may  meet,"  in 
sisted  Mr.  Tate;  "I  frequently  inaugurate  profitable  con 
versations  and  lay  the  foundations  of  new  friendships  this 
way:  Who  are  your  favorite  poets  ?" 

"Say,  now,  look  here!"  blurted  the  Cap'n,  coming  away 
from  the  stove  and  dusting  his  hard  hands  together;  "you've 
been  rammed  into  my  throat,  and  I'm  havin'  pretty  blamed 
hard  work  to  swallow  you.  I  may  be  able  to  do  it  if  you 
don't  daub  on  portry.  Now,  if  you've  got  any  idea  what 
you're  here  for  and  what  you're  goin'  to  do,  you  get  at  it. 
Do  you  know  ?" 

"I  had  ventured  upon  a  little  plan,"  said  Mr.  Tate, 
meekly.  "I  thought  that  first  of  all  I  would  arrange  the 
literary  programme  for  the  day,  the  oration,  the  poem,  the 
various  addresses,  and  I  already  have  a  little  schedule  to 
submit  to  you.  I  have  a  particular  request  to  make,  Cap'n 
Sproul.  I  wish  that  you,  as  chairman  of  the  committee, 
would  designate  me  as  poet-laureate  of  the  grand  occasion." 

"You  can  be  any  kind  of  a  pote  you  want  to,"  said  the 
selectman,  promptly.  "And  I'll  tell  you  right  here  and  now, 
I  don't  give  a  continental  thunderation  about  your  pro- 
grammy  or  your  speech-makers — not  even  if  you  go  dig  up 
old  Dan'l  Webster  and  set  him  on  the  stand.  I  didn't  start 
this  thing,  and  I  ain't  approvin'  of  it.  I'm  simply  grabbin' 
in  on  it  so  that  I  can  make  sure  that  the  fools  of  this  town 
won't  hook  into  that  money  with  both  hands  and  strew  it 
galley-west.  That's  me!  Now,  if  you've  got  business,  then 
'tend  to  it!  And  I'll  be  'tendin'  to  mine!" 

It  was  not  an  encouraging  prospect  for  a  secretary  who 
desired  to  be  humble  and  helpful.  Cap'n  Sproul  busied 
26  387 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

himself  with  a  little  pile  of  smudgy  account-books,  each  rep* 
resenting  a  road  district  of  the  town.  He  was  adding  "snow- 
bills."  Mr.  Tate  gazed  forlornly  on  the  fiercely  puckered 
brow  and  "plipping"  lips,  and  heard  the  low  growl  of  pro 
fanity  as  the  Cap'n  missed  count  on  a  column  and  had  to 
start  over  again.  Then  Mr.  Tate  sighed  and  opened  his 
portfolio.  He  sat  staring  above  it  at  the  iron  visage  of  the 
first  selectman,  who  finally  grew  restive  under  this  espionage. 

"Say,  look-a-here,  Pote  Tate,"  he  growled,  levelling  flam 
ing  eyes  across  the  table,  "if  you  think  you're  goin'  to  set 
there  lookin'  at  me  like  a  Chessy  cat  watchin'  a  rat-hole, 
you  and  me  is  goin'  to  have  trouble,  and  have  it  sudden  and 
have  it  vi'lent!" 

"I  wanted  to  ask  you  a  question — some  advice!"  gasped 
the  secretary. 

"Haven't  I  told  you  to  pick  out  your  business  and  'tend 
to  it  ?"  demanded  the  Cap'n,  vibrating  his  lead-pencil. 

"But  this  is  about  spending  some  money." 

"Well,  mebbe  that's  diff'runt."  The  selectman  modified 
his  tone.  "Go  ahead  and  stick  in  your  paw!  What's  this 
first  grab  for  ?"  he  asked,  resignedly. 

"To  make  my  letters  official  and  regular,"  explained  Mr. 
Tate,  "I've  got  to  have  stationery  printed  with  the  names  of 
the  committee  on  it — you  as  chairman,  per  Gonsetena  Tate, 
secretary." 

"Go  across  to  the  printin'-office  and  have  some  struck 
off,"  directed  the  selectman.  "If  havin'  some  paper  to 
write  on  will  get  you  busy  enough  so't  you  won't  set  there 
starin'  me  out  of  countenance,  it  will  be  a  good  investment." 

For  the  next  few  days  Mr.  Tate  was  quite  successful  in 
keeping  himself  out  from  under  foot,  so  the  Cap'n  grudgingly 
admitted  to  Hiram.  He  found  a  little  stand  in  a  corner  of 

388 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

the  big  room  and  doubled  himself  over  it,  writing  letters  with 
patient  care.  The  first  ones  he  ventured  to  submit  to  the 
Cap'n  before  sealing  them.  But  the  chairman  of  the  com 
mittee  contemptuously  refused  to  read  them  or  to  sign. 
Therefore  Mr.  Tate  did  that  service  for  his  superior,  signing; 
"Capt.  Aaron  Sproul,  Chairman.  Per  Consetena  Tate, 
Secretary."  He  piled  the  letters,  sealed,  before  the  Cap'n, 
and  the  latter  counted  them  carefully  and  issued  stamps 
with  scrupulous  exactness.  Replies  came  in  printed  return 
envelopes;  but,  though  they  bore  his  name,  Cap'n  Sproul 
scornfully  refused  to  touch  one  of  them.  The  stern  attitude 
that  he  had  assumed  toward  the  Smyrna  centennial  celebra 
tion  was  this:  Toleration,  as  custodian  of  the  funds;  but 
participation,  never! 

During  many  hours  of  the  day  Mr.  Tate  did  not  write, 
but  sat  and  gazed  at  the  cracked  ceiling  with  a  rapt  expres 
sion  that  made  the  Cap'n  nervous.  The  Cap'n  spoke  of 
this  to  Hiram. 

"That  feller  ain't  right  in  his  head,"  said  the  selectman. 
"He  sets  there  hours  at  a  time,  like  a  hen  squattin'  on  duck- 
eggs,  lookin*  up  cross-eyed.  I  was  through  an  insane  horse- 
pittle  once,  and  they  had  patients  there  just  like  that.  Fd 
just  as  soon  have  a  bullhead  snake  in  the  room  with 
me." 

"He's  gettin'  up  his  pome,  that's  all,"  Hiram  explained. 
"I've  seen  lit'ry  folks  in  my  time.  They  act  queer,  but 
there  ain't  any  harm  in  'em." 

"That  may  be,"  allowed  the  Cap'n,  "but  I  shall  be  al 
mighty  glad  when  this  centennial  is  over  and  I  can  get  Pote 
Tate  out  of  that  corner,  and  put  the  broom  and  poker  back 
there,  and  have  something  sensible  to  look  at." 

Preparations  for  the  great  event  went  on  smartly.     The 

389 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

various  societies  and  interests  conferred  amicably,  and  the 
whole  centennial  day  was  blocked  out,  from  the  hundred 
guns  at  early  dawn  to  the  last  sputter  of  the  fireworks  at 
midnight.  And  everything  and  every  one  called  for  money; 
money  for  prizes,  for  souvenirs  for  entertainment  of  visitors, 
for  bands,  for  carriages — a  multitude  of  items,  all  to  be 
settled  for  when  the  great  event  was  over.  If  Cap'n  Sproul 
had  hoped  to  save  a  remnant  of  his  treasure-fund  he  was 
soon  undeceived.  Perspiring  over  his  figures,  he  discovered 
that  there  wouldn't  be  enough  if  all  demands  were  met. 
But  he  continued  grimly  to  apportion. 

One  day  he  woke  the  poet  out  of  the  trance  into  which  he 
had  fallen  after  delivering  to  his  chairman  a  great  pile  of 
sealed  letters  to  be  counted  for  stamps. 

"What  do  I  understand  by  all  these  bushels  of  epistles  to 
the  Galatians  that  you've  been  sluicin'  out  ?"  he  demanded. 
"Who  be  they,  and  what  are  you  writin'  to  'em  for  ?  I've 
been  lookin'  over  the  names  that  you've  backed  on  these 
envelopes,  and  there  isn't  one  of  'em  I  ever  heard  tell  of, 
nor  see  the  sense  in  writin'  to." 

Mr.  Tate  untangled  his  twisted  legs  and  came  over  to  the 
table,  quivering  in  his  emotion. 

"Never  heard  of  them  ?  Never  heard  of  them  ?"  he  re 
peated,  gulping  his  amazement.  He  shuffled  the  letters  to 
and  fro,  tapping  his  thin  finger  on  the  superscriptions. 
"Oh,  you  must  be  joking,  Captain  Sproul,  dear  sir!  Never 
heard  of  the  poets  and  orators  and  savants  whose  names  are 
written  there  ?  Surely,  'tis  a  joke." 

"I  ain't  feelin'  in  no  very  great  humorous  state  of  mind 
these  days,"  returned  the  Cap'n  with  vigor.  "If  you  see 
any  joke  in  what  I'm  sayin'  you'd  better  not  laugh.  I  tell 
ye,  I  never  heard  of  'em!  Now  you  answer  my  question." 

39° 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"Why,  they  are  great  poets,  authors,  orators — the  great 
minds  of  the  country.  They — 

"Well,  they  ain't  all  mind,  be  they?  They're  hearty 
eaters,  ain't  they  ?  They'll  want  three  square  meals  when 
they  get  here,  won't  they  ?  What  I  want  to  know  now  is, 
how  many  thousands  of  them  blasted  grasshoppers  you've 
gone  to  work  and  managed  to  tole  in  here  to  be  fed  ?  I'm 
just  wakin'  up  to  the  resks  we're  runnin',  and  it  makes  me 
sweat  cold  water."  He  glanced  apprehensively  at  the  papers 
bearing  his  computations. 

"All  the  replies  I  have  received  so  far  have  been  regrets," 
murmured  Mr.  Tate,  sorrowfully.  "I  took  the  greatest 
names  first.  I  was  ambitious  for  our  dear  town,  Captain. 
I  went  directly  to  the  highest  founts.  Perhaps  I  looked  too 
high.  They  have  all  sent  regrets.  I  have  to  confess  that 
I  have  not  yet  secured  the  orator  of  the  day  nor  any 
of  the  other  speakers.  But  I  was  ambitious  to  get  the 
best." 

"Well,  that's  the  first  good  news  I've  heard  since  we 
started  on  this  lunatic  fandango,"  said  the  Cap'n,  with  soul 
ful  thanksgiving.  "Do  you  think  there's  any  in  this  last 
mess  that  '11  be  li'ble  to  come  if  they're  asked  ?" 

"I  have  been  gradually  working  down  the  scale  of  great 
ness,  but  I'm  afraid  I  have  still  aimed  too  high,"  confessed 
Mr.  Tate,  "Yet  the  effort  is  not  lost  by  any  means."  His 
eyes  kindled.  "All  my  life,  Captain  Sproul,  I  have  been 
eager  for  the  autographs  of  great  men — that  I  might  gaze 
upon  the  spot  of  paper  where  their  mighty  hands  have  rested 
to  write.  I  have  succeeded  beyond  my  fondest  dreams.  I 
have  a  collection  of  autograph  letters  that  make  my  heart 
swell  with  pride." 

"So  that's  how  you've  been  spendin'  the  money  of  this 

391 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

town — Writin'  to  folks  that  you  knew  wouldn't  come,  so  as 
to  get  their  autographs  ?" 

He  touched  the  point  better  than  he  realized.  Poet  Tate's 
face  grew  paler.  After  his  first  batch  of  letters  had  brought 
those  returns  from  the  regretful  great  he  had  been  recklessly 
scattering  invitations  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific — ap 
pealing  invitations  done  in  his  best  style,  and  sanctioned  by 
the  aegis  of  a  committee  headed  by  "Captain  Sproul,  Chair 
man."  Such  unbroken  array  of  declinations  heartened  him 
in  his  quest,  and  he  was  reaping  his  halcyon  harvest  as  rap 
idly  as  he  could. 

"I  was  going  to  put  them  on  exhibition  at  the  centennial, 
and  make  them  the  great  feature  of  the  day,"  mumbled  the 
poet,  apologetically. 

"So  do!  So  do!"  advised  the  Cap'n  with  bitter  irony.  "I 
can  see  a  ramjam  rush  of  the  people  away  from  the  tub- 
squirt,  right  in  the  middle  of  it,  to  look  at  them  autographs. 
I  can  see  'em  askin'  the  band  to  stop  playin'  so  that  they  can 
stand  and  meditate  on  them  letters.  It  '11  bust  up  the  hoss- 
trot.  Folks  won't  want  to  get  away  from  them  letters  long 
enough  to  go  down  to  the  track.  I  wish  I'd  'a'  knowed  this 
sooner,  Pote  Tate.  Take  them  letters  and  your  pome,  and 
we  wouldn't  need  to  be  spendin'  money  and  foolin'  it  away 
on  the  other  kind  of  a  programmy  we've  got  up!  Them 
Merino  rams  from  Vienny,  Canaan,  and  surroundin'  towns 
that  '11  come  in  here  full  of  hell  and  hard  cider  will  jest  love 
to  set  down  with  you  and  study  autographs  all  day!" 

Mr.  Tate  flushed  under  the  satire  by  which  the  Cap'n  was 
expressing  his  general  disgust  at  Smyrna's  expensive  attempt 
to  celebrate.  He  exhibited  a  bit  of  spirit  for  the  first  time  in 
their  intercourse. 

"The  literary  exercises  ought  to  be  the  grand  feature  of 
392 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

the  day,  sir!  Can  a  horse-trot  or  a  firemen's  muster  call  at 
tention  to  the  progress  of  a  hundred  years  ?  I  fear  Smyrna 
is  forgetting  the  main  point  of  the  celebration." 

"Don't  you  worry  any  about  that,  Pote,"  snapped  the 
selectman.  "No  one  round  here  is  losin'  sight  of  the  main 
point.  Main  point  is  for  churches  and  temperance  workers 
and  wimmen's  auxiliaries  to  sell  as  much  grub  as  they  can 
to  visitors,  and  for  citizens  to  parade  round  behind  a  brass- 
band  like  mules  with  the  spring-halt,  and  to  spend  the  money 
that  I  had  ready  to  clear  off  the  town  debt.  And  if  any  one 
thinks  about  the  town  bein'  a  hundred  years  old,  it  '11  be  next 
mornin'  when  he  wakes  up  and  feels  that  way  himself.  You 
and  me  is  the  losin'  minority  this  time,  Pote.  I  didn't  want 
it  at  all,  and  you  want  it  something  diff'runt."  He  looked 
the  gaunt  figure  up  and  down  with  a  little  of  the  sympathy 
that  one  feels  for  a  fellow-victim.  Then  he  gave  out  stamps 
for  the  letters.  "As  long  as  it's  got  to  be  spent,  this  is  about 
the  innocentest  way  of  spendin'  it,"  he  muttered. 


XXXII 

S  the  great  occasion  drew  nearer,  Mr.  Tare  re 
doubled  his  epistolary  efforts.  He  was  goaded 
by  two  reasons.  He  had  not  secured  his  nota 
bles  for  the  literary  programme;  he  would  soon 
have  neither  excuse  nor  stamps  for  collecting 
autographs.  He  descended  into  the  lower  levels  of  genius 
and  fame.  He  wound  up  his  campaign  of  solicitation  with 
a  stack  of  letters  that  made  the  Cap'n  gasp.  But  the  chair 
man  gave  out  the  stamps  with  a  certain  amount  of  savage 
satisfaction  in  doing  it,  for  some  of  the  other  hateful  treasury- 
raiders  would  have  to  go  without,  and  he  anticipated  that 
Poet  Tate,  suggester  of  the  piracy,  would  meet  up  with 
proper  retribution  from  his  own  ilk  when  the  committee  in 
final  round-up  discovered  how  great  an  inroad  the  auto 
graph-seeker  had  made  in  the  funds.  The  Cap'n  had 
shrewd  fore-vision  as  to  just  how  Smyrna  would  view  the 
expenditure  of  money  in  that  direction. 

For  the  first  time,  he  gazed  on  his  secretary  with  a  sort  of 
kindly  light  in  his  eyes,  realizing  and  relishing  the  part  that 
Consetena  was  playing.  On  his  own  part,  Poet  Tate  wel 
comed  this  single  gleam  of  kindly  feeling,  as  the  Eskimo  wel 
comes  the  first  glimpse  of  the  vernal  sun.  He  ran  to  his 
portfolio. 

"I  have  it  finished,  Captain!"  he  cried.  "It  is  the  effort 
of  my  life.  To  you  I  offer  it  first  of  all — you  shall  have  the 

394 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

first  bloom  of  it.     It  begins" — he  clutched  the  bulky  manu 
script  in  shaking  hands — "it  begins: 

"  Ethereal  Goddess,  come,  oh  come,  I  pray, 
And  press  thy  fingers,  on  this  festal  day, 
Upon  my  fevered  brow  and — " 

"  May  I  ask  what  you're  settin'  about  to  do,  there  ?"  in 
quired  Cap'n  Sproul,  balefully. 

"It  is  my  poem!  I  am  about  to  read  it  to  you,  to  offer  it 
to  you  as  head  of  our  municipality.  I  will  read  it  to  you." 

The  Gap'n  waited  for  the  explanation  patiently.  He 
seemed  to  want  to  make  sure  of  the  intended  enormity  of  the 
offence.  He  even  inquired:  "How  much  do  you  reckon 
there  is  of  it  ?" 

"Six  thousand  lines,"  said  Mr.  Tate,  with  an  author's 
pride. 

"Pote  Tate,"  he  remarked,  solemnly,  "seein'  that  you 
haven't  ever  been  brought  in  very  close  touch  with  deep- 
water  sailors,  and  don't  know  what  they've  had  to  contend 
with,  and  how  their  dispositions  get  warped,  and  not  knowin' 
my  private  opinion  of  men-grown  potes,  you've  set  here  day 
by  day  and  haven't  realized  the  chances  you've  been  takin'. 
Just  one  ordinary  back-handed  wallop,  such  as  would  only 
tickle  a  Portygee  sailor,  would  mean  wreaths  and  a  harp  for 
you!  Thank  God,  I  haven't  ever  forgot  myself,  not  yet. 
Lay  that  pome  back,  and  tie  them  covers  together  with  a 
hard  knot." 

The  Cap'n's  ominous  calm,  his  evident  effort  to  repress 
even  a  loud  tone,  troubled  Poet  Tate  more  than  violence 
would  have  done.  He  took  himself  and  his  portfolio  away. 
As  he  licked  his  stamps  in  the  post-office  he  privately  con 
fided  to  the  postmistress  his  conviction  that  Cap'n  Sproul 

395 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

was  not  exactly  in  his  right  mind  at  all  times,  thus  uncon 
sciously  reciprocating  certain  sentiments  of  his  chairman 
regarding  the  secretary's  sanity. 

"I  don't  think  I'll  go  back  to  the  office,"  said  Mr.  Tate. 
"I  have  written  all  my  letters.  All  those  that  come  here  in 
printed  envelopes  for  Captain  Sproul  I  will  take,  as  secre 
tary." 

At  the  end  of  another  ten  days,  and  on  the  eve  of  the 
centennial,  Mr.  Tate  had  made  an  interesting  discovery. 
It  was  to  the  effect  that  although  genius  in  the  higher  alti 
tudes  is  not  easily  come  at,  and  responds  by  courteous  decli 
nations  and  regrets,  genius  in  the  lower  levels  is  still  desirous 
of  advertising  and  an  opportunity  to  shine,  and  can  be 
cajoled  by  promise  of  refunded  expenses  and  lavish  enter 
tainment  as  guest  of  the  municipality. 

The  last  batch  of  letters  of  invitation,  distributed  among 
those  lower  levels  of  notability,  elicited  the  most  interesting 
autograph  letters  of  all;  eleven  notables  accepted  the  invi 
tation  to  deliver  the  oration  of  the  day;  a  dozen  or  so  an 
nounced  that  they  would  be  present  and  speak  on  topics 
connected  with  the  times,  and  one  and  all  assured  Captain 
Aaron  Sproul  that  they  thoroughly  appreciated  his  courtesy, 
and  looked  forward  to  a  meeting  with  much  pleasure,  and 
trusted,  etc.,  etc. 

Poet  Tate,  mild,  diffident,  unpractical  Poet  Tate,  who  in 
all  his  life  had  never  been  called  upon  to  face  a  crisis,  did  not 
face  this  one. 

The  bare  notion  of  going  to  Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul  and  con 
fessing  made  his  brain  reel.  The  memory  of  the  look  in  the 
Cap'n's  eyes,  evoked  by  so  innocent  a  proposition  as  the 
reading  of  six  thousand  lines  of  poetry  to  him,  made  Mr. 
Tate's  fluttering  heart  bang  against  his  ribs.  Even  when  he 

396 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

sat  down  to  write  a  letter,  making  the  confession,  his  teeth 
chattered  and  his  pen  danced  drunkenly.  It  made  him  so 
faint,  even  to  put  the  words  on  paper,  that  he  flung  his  pen 
away. 

A  more  resourceful  man,  a  man  with  something  in  his  head 
besides  dreams,  might  have  headed  off  the  notables.  But  in 
his  panic  Poet  Tate  became  merely  a  frightened  child  with 
the  single  impulse  to  flee  from  the  mischief  he  had  caused. 
With  his  poem  padding  his  thin  chest,  he  crept  out  of  his 
father's  house  in  the  night  preceding  the  great  day,  and  the 
blackness  swallowed  him  up.  Uneasy  urchins  in  the  dis 
tant  village  were  already  popping  the  first  firecrackers  of  the 
celebration.  Poet  Tate  groaned,  and  fled. 

Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul  arrived  at  the  town  office  next  morn 
ing  in  a  frame  of  mind  distinctly  unamiable.  Though  his 
house  was  far  out  of  the  village,  the  unearthly  racket  of  the 
night  had  floated  up  to  him — squawking  horns,  and  clanging 
bells,  and  exploding  powder.  The  hundred  cannons  at  sun 
rise  brought  a  vigorous  word  for  each  reverberation.  At  an 
early  hour  Hiram  Look  had  come  over,  gay  in  his  panoply  as 
chief  of  the  Ancient  and  Honorables,  and  repeated  his  in 
sistent  demand  that  the  Cap'n  ride  at  the  head  of  the  parade 
in  an  imported  barouche,  gracing  the  occasion  as  head  of  the 
municipality. 

"The  people  demand  it,"  asseverated  Hiram  with  heat. 
"The  people  have  rights  over  you." 

"Same  as  they  had  over  that  surplus  in  the  town  treasury, 
hey  ?"  inquired  the  Cap'n.  "What's  that  you're  luggin'  in 
that  paper  as  though  'twas  aigs  ?" 

"It's  one  of  my  plug  hats  that  I  was  goin'  to  lend  you," 
explained  his  friend,  cheerily.  "I've  rigged  it  up  with  a 
cockade.  I  figger  that  we  can't  any  of  us  be  too  festal  on  a 

397 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

day  like  this.  I  know  you  ain't  no  ways  taken  to  plug  hats; 
but  when  a  man  holds  office  and  the  people  look  to  him  for 
certain  things,  he  has  to  bow  down  to  the  people.  We're 
goin'  to  have  a  great  and  glorious  day  of  this,  Cap,"  he 
cried,  all  his  showman's  soul  infected  by  gallant  excite 
ment,  and  enthusiasm  glowing  in  his  eyes.  It  was  a 
kind  of  enthusiasm  that  Cap'n  Sproul's  gloomy  soul  re 
sented. 

"I've  had  consid'able  many  arguments  with  you,  Hiram, 
over  this  affair,  first  and  last,  and  just  at  present  reck'nin' 
I'm  luggin'  about  all  the  canvas  my  feelin's  will  stand.  Now 
I  won't  wear  that  damnation  stove-funnel  hat;  I  won't  ride 
in  any  baroosh;  I  won't  make  speeches;  I  won't  set  up  on 
any  platform.  I'll  simply  set  in  town  office  and  'tend  to  my 
business,  and  draw  orders  on  the  treasury  to  pay  bills,  as  fast 
as  bills  are  presented.  That's  what  I  started  out  to  do,  and 
that's  all  I  will  do.  And  if  you  don't  want  to  see  me  jibe 
and  all  go  by  the  board,  you  keep  out  of  my  way  with  your 
plug  hats  and  barooshes.  And  it  might  be  well  to  inform 
inquirin'  friends  to  the  same  effect." 

He  pushed  away  the  head-gear  that  Hiram  still  extended 
toward  him,  and  tramped  out  of  the  house  and  down  the  hill 
with  his  sturdy  sea-gait.  Dodging  firecrackers  that  sput 
tered  and  banged  in  the  highway  about  his  feet,  and  cursing 
soulfully,  he  gained  the  town  office  and  grimly  sat  himself 
down. 

He  knew  when  the  train  from  down-river  and  the  outside 
world  had  arrived  by  the  riotous  accessions  to  the  crowds 
without  in  the  square.  Firemen  in  red  shirts  thronged 
everywhere.  Men  who  wore  feathered  hats  and  tawdry  uni 
forms  filled  the  landscape.  He  gazed  on  them  with  unut 
terable  disgust. 

398 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

A  stranger  awakened  him  from  his  reverie  on  the  vanities 
of  the  world.  The  stranger  had  studied  the  sign 

SELECTMEN'S  OFFICE 

and  had  come  in.  He  wore  a  frock  coat  and  shiny  silk  hat, 
and  inquired  whether  he  had  the  pleasure  of  speaking  to 
Captain  Aaron  Sproul,  first  selectman  of  Smyrna. 

"I'm  him,"  said  the  Cap'n,  glowering  up  from  under 
knotted  eyebrows,  his  gaze  principally  on  the  shiny  tile. 

"I  was  just  a  little  surprised  that  there  was  no  committee 
of  reception  at  the  station  to  meet  me,"  said  the  stranger,  in 
mild  rebuke.  "There  was  not  even  a  carriage  there.  But 
I  suppose  it  was  an  oversight,  due  to  the  rush  of  affairs 
to-day." 

The  Cap'n  still  scowled  at  him,  not  in  the  least  under 
standing  why  this  stranger  should  expect  to  be  carted  into  the 
village  from  the  railroad. 

"  I  will  introduce  myself.  I  am  Professor  William  Wilson 
Waverley,  orator  of  the  day;  I  have  had  some  very  pleasant 
correspondence  with  you,  Captain  Sproul,  and  I'm  truly 
glad  to  meet  you  face  to  face." 

"You've  got  the  advantage  of  me,"  blurted  the  Cap'n, 
still  dense.  "I  never  heard  of  you  before  in  my  life,  nor  I 
never  wrote  you  any  letter,  unless  I  got  up  in  my  sleep  and 
done  it." 

With  wonderment  and  some  irritation  growing  on  his  face, 
the  stranger  pulled  out  a  letter  and  laid  it  before  the  Cap'n. 

The  selectman  studied  it  long  enough  to  see  that  it  was 
an  earnest  invitation  to  honor  the  town  of  Smyrna  with  a 
centennial  oration,  and  that  the  town  would  pay  all  ex 
penses;  and  the  letter  was  signed,  "Captain  Aaron  Sproul, 

399 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

First  Selectman  and  Chairman  of  Committee,  Per  Consetena 
Tate,  Secretary." 

"I  never  saw  that  before,"  insisted  the  Cap'n. 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  disown  it  ?" 

"No,  I  reckon  it's  all  official  and  regular.  What  I  just 
said  about  not  havin'  seen  it  before  might  have  sounded  a 
little  queer,  but  there's  an  explanation  goes  with  it.  You 
see,  it's  been  this  way.  I — 

But  at  that  moment  fully  a  score  of  men  filed  into  the 
office,  all  of  them  with  set  faces  and  indignant  demeanors. 
The  Cap'n  was  not  well  posted  on  the  breed  of  literati,  but 
with  half  an  eye  he  noted  that  these  were  not  the  ordinary 
sort  of  men.  There  were  more  silk  hats,  there  were  broad- 
brimmed  hats,  there  was  scrupulousness  in  attire,  there  was 
the  disarray  of  Bohemianism.  And  it  was  plainly  evident 
that  these  later  arrivals  had  had  word  of  conference  with 
each  other.  Each  held  a  "Per  Consetena  Tate"  letter  in 
his  hand. 

"I  have  met  with  some  amazing  situations  in  my  time — 
in  real  life  and  in  romance,"  stated  a  hard-faced  man  who 
had  evidently  been  selected  as  spokesman.  "  But  this  seems 
so  supremely  without  parallel  that  I  am  almost  robbed  of  ex 
pression.  Here  are  ten  of  us,  each  having  the  same  iden 
tical  letter  of  invitation  to  deliver  the  oration  of  the  day  here 
on  this  occasion." 

"Ten,  did  you  say?  Eleven,"  said  the  first -comer. 
"Here  is  my  letter." 

"And  the  others  have  invitations  to  deliver  discourses," 
went  on  the  spokesman,  severely.  "As  your  name  is  signed 
to  all  these  letters,  Captain  Aaron  Sproul,  first  selectman  of 
Smyrna,  perhaps  you  will  deign  to  explain  to  us  what  it  all 
means." 

400 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

Cap'n  Sproul  arose  and  then  sat  down;  arose  and  sat 
down  again.  He  tried  to  speak,  but  only  a  husky  croak 
came  forth.  Something  seemed  to  have  crawled  into  his 
throat — something  fuzzy  and  filling,  that  would  not  allow 
language  to  pass. 

"Here  are  more  than  twenty  prominent  men,  seduced 
from  their  manifold  duties,  called  away  up  here  to  satisfy 
the  rural  idea  of  a  joke — or,  at  least,  I  can  see  no  other  ex 
planation,"  proceeded  the  hard-faced  man.  "It  might  be 
remarked  in  passing  that  the  joke  will  be  an  expensive  one 
for  this  town.  Eleven  distinguished  men  called  here  to  de 
liver  one  oration  in  a  one-horse  town!" 

The  Cap'n  did  not  like  the  bitter  irony  of  his  tone,  and 
recovered  his  voice  enough  to  say, 

"You  might  cut  the  cards  or  spit  at  a  crack,  gents,  to  see 
which  one  does  deliver  the  oration."  But  the  pleasantry  did 
not  evoke  any  smile  from  that  disgusted  assemblage. 

"It  is  safe  to  say  that  after  this  hideous  insult  not  one  of 
us  will  speak,"  declared  one  of  the  group.  "  But  I  for  one 
would  like  some  light  on  the  insane  freak  that  prompted  this 
performance.  As  you  are  at  the  head  of  this  peculiar  com 
munity,  we'd  like  you  to  speak  for  it." 

Somewhat  to  his  own  surprise,  Cap'n  Sproul  did  not  find 
in  himself  any  especially  bitter  animosity  toward  Mr.  Tate, 
just  then,  search  his  soul  as  he  might. 

These  "lit'ry  fellows,"  cajoled  by  one  of  their  own  ilk  into 
this  unspeakable  muddle,  were,  after  all,  he  reflected,  of  the 
sort  he  had  scorned  with  all  his  sailor  repugnance  to  airs  and 
pretensions.  Cap'n  Sproul  possessed  a  peculiarly  grim 
sense  of  humor.  This  indignant  assemblage  appealed  to 
that  sense. 

"Gents,"  he  said,  standing  up  and  propping  himself  on 
401 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

the  table  by  his  knuckles,  "there  are  things  in  this  world 
that  are  deep  mysteries.  Of  course,  men  like  you  reckon  you 
know  most  everything  there  is  to  be  known.  But  you  see 
that  on  the  bottom  of  each  letter  you  have,  there  are  the 
words:  'Per  Consetena  Tate.'  There's  where  the  mystery 
is  in  this  case." 

"I  imagine  it  isn't  so  deep  a  mystery  but  that  we  can  un 
derstand  it  if  you  will  explain,"  said  the  spokesman,  coldly. 

"There's  where  you  are  mistaken,"  declared  the  Cap'n. 
"It  would  take  a  long  time  to  tell  you  the  inside  of  this  thing, 
and  even  then  you  wouldn't  know  which,  what,  or  whuther 
about  it."  In  his  heart  Cap'n  Sproul  was  resolved  that  he 
would  not  own  up  to  these  strangers  the  part  his  own  negli 
gence  had  played.  He  reflected  for  his  consolation  that  he 
had  not  projected  the  centennial  celebration  of  Smyrna.  It 
occurred  to  him  with  illuminating  force  that  he  had  pledged 
himself  to  only  one  thing:  to  pay  the  bills  of  the  celebration 
as  fast  as  they  were  presented  to  him.  Consetena  Tate  was 
the  secretary  the  town  had  foisted  on  his  committee.  Con 
setena  Tate  had  made  definite  contracts.  His  lips  twisted 
into  a  queer  smile  under  his  beard. 

"Gents,"  he  said,  "there  isn't  any  mystery  about  them 
contracts,  however.  This  town  pays  its  bills.  You  say  no 
one  of  you  wants  to  orate  ?  That  is  entirely  satisfactory  to 
me — for  I  ain't  runnin'  that  part.  I'm  here  to  pay  bills. 
Each  one  of  you  make  out  his  bill  and  receipt  it.  Then 
come  with  me  to  the  town  treasurer's  office." 

The  tumultuous  throngs  that  spied  Cap'n  Sproul  leading 
that  file  of  distinguished  men  to  Broadway's  store — Broad 
way  being  treasurer  of  Smyrna — merely  gazed  with  a  flicker 
of  curiosity  and  turned  again  to  their  sports,  little  realizing 
just  what  effect  that  file  of  men  was  to  have  on  the  financial 

402 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

sinews  of  those  sports.  Cap'n  Sproul  scarcely  realized  it 
himself  until  all  the  returns  were  in.  He  simply  hoped, 
that's  all!  And  his  hopes  were  more  than  justified. 

"My  Gawd,  Cap'n,"  gasped  Odbar  Broadway  when  the 
notables  had  received  their  money  and  had  filed  out,  "what 
does  this  mean  ?  There  ain't  more'n  a  hundred  dollars  left 
of  the  surplus  fund,  and  there  ain't  any  of  the  prizes 
and  appropriations  paid  yet!  Who  be  them  plug -hatters 
from  all  over  God's  creation,  chalkin'  up  railroad  fares 
agin  us  like  we  had  a  machine  to  print  money  in  this 
town  ?" 

"Them  vouchers  is  all  right,  ain't  they?"  demanded  the 
Cap'n.  "Them  vouchers  with  letters  attached?" 

"Yes,  they  be,"  faltered  the  treasurer. 

"  So  fur  as  who  strangers  may  be,  you  can  ask  Pote  Con- 
setena  Tate,  secretary,  about  that.  They're  lit'ry  gents,  and 
he's  done  all  the  official  business  with  them." 

Broadway  stared  at  him,  and  then  began  to  make  some 
hasty  figures. 

"See  here,  Cap'n,"  he  said,  plaintively,  "there's  just 
about  enough  of  that  fund  left  to  settle  the  committee  bill 
here  at  my  store.  Have  I  got  to  share  pro  raty  ?" 

"Pay  yourself  and  clean  it  out.  I'll  countersign  your 
bill,"  declared  the  chairman,  cheerfully.  "If  there  ain't  any 
fund,  I  can  go  home.  I'm  infernal  sick  of  this  hellitywhoop 
noise." 

And  he  trudged  back  up  the  hill  to  the  quietude  of  his 
farm,  with  deep  content. 

He  had  been  some  hours  asleep  that  night  when  vigorous 
poundings  on  his  door  awoke  him,  and  when  at  last  he  ap 
peared  on  his  piazza  he  found  a  large  and  anxious  delega 
tion  of  citizens  filling  his  yard. 
27  403 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"Cap'n,"  bleated  one  of  the  committee,  "Broadway  says 
there  ain't  any  money  to  pay  prizes  with." 

"Vouchers  is  all  right.  Money  paid  on  contracts  signed 
by  your  official  secretary,  that  you  elected  unanimous,"  said 
the  Cap'n,  stoutly. 

"We  know  it,"  cried  the  committeeman,  "but  we  don't 
understand  it." 

"Then  hunt  up  the  man  that  made  the  contracts — Pote 
Tate,"  advised  the  selectman.  "All  the  business  I've  done 
was  to  pay  out  the  money.  You  know  what  stand  I've  took 
right  along." 

"We  know  it,  Cap'n,  and  we  ain't  blamin'  you — but  we 
don't  understand,  and  we  can't  find  Consetena  Tate.  His 
folks  don't  know  where  he  is.  He's  run  away." 

"Potes  are  queer  critters,"  sighed  the  Cap'n,  compassion 
ately.  He  turned  to  go  in. 

"  But  how  are  we  goin'  to  get  the  money  to  pay  up  for  the 
sports,  the  fireworks,  and  things  ?" 

"Them  that  hires  fiddlers  and  dances  all  day  and  night 
must  expect  to  pay  said  fiddlers,"  announced  the  Cap'n, 
oracularly.  "I  reckon  you'll  have  to  pass  the  hat  for  the 
fiddlers." 

"If  that's  the  case,"  called  the  committeeman,  heart- 
brokenly,  "won't  you  put  your  name  down  for  a  little  ?" 

"Since  I've  had  the  rheumatiz  I  ain't  been  any  hand  at  all 
to  dance,"  remarked  the  Cap'n,  gently,  through  the  crack  of 
the  closing  door. 

And  they  knew  what  he  meant,  and  went  away  down  the 
hill,  as  sober  as  the  cricket  when  he  was  departing  from  the 
door  of  the  thrifty  ant. 


XXXIII 

SELECTMAN  SPROUL  halted  for  a 
few  moments  on  the  steps  of  the  town  house 
the  next  morning  in  order  to  gaze  out  surlily 
on  the  left-overs  of  that  day  of  celebration. 
Smyrna's  village  square  was  unsightly  with  a 
litter  of  evil-smelling  firecracker  remnants,  with  torn  paper 
bags,  broken  canes,  dented  tin  horns  and  all  the  usual 
flotsam  marking  the  wake  of  a  carnival  crowd. 

Constable  Nute  came  tramping  to  him  across  this  untidy 
carpeting  and  directed  his  attention  to  the  broken  windows 
in  the  town  house  and  in  other  buildings  that  surrounded 
the  square. 

"Actions  of  visitin'  firemen,  mostly,"  explained  the  con 
stable,  gloomily.  "Took  that  way  of  expressin'  their 
opinion  of  a  town  that  would  cheat  'em  out  of  prize-money 
that  they  came  down  here  all  in  good  faith  to  get.  And  I 
don't  blame  'em  to  any  great  extent." 

"Nor  I,  either,"  agreed  the  Cap'n  with  a  readiness  that 
surprised  Mr.  Nute.  "A  town  that  doesn't  pay  its  bills 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  itself." 

The  constable  backed  away  a  few  steps  and  stared  at  this 
amazing  detractor. 

"I  paid  bills  prompt  and  honest  just  as  long  as  there  was 
any  money  to  pay  'em  with,"  the  Cap'n  went  on.  "There's 
nothin'  on  my  conscience." 

405 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"Yes,  but  who  did  you  pay  the  money  to  ?"  complained 
Nute,  voicing  the  protest  of  Smyrna.  "The  least  you  could 
have  done  was  to  make  them  plug-hatters  share  pro  raty 
with  the  fire-company  boys — and  the  fire-company  boys 
furnished  the  show;  them  plug-hatters  didn't." 

"It's  always  been  my  rule  to  pay  a  hundred  cents  on  the 
dollar,  and  I  paid  the  Imndred  cents  so  long  as  the  cash 
lasted.  Go  hunt  up  your  Pote  Tate  if  you  want  to  know 
why  the  plug-hatters  had  a  good  claim." 

"He's  back,  Tate  is,  and  we  made  him  explain,  and  this 
town  had  no  business  in  givin'  a  cussed  fool  like  him  so 
much  power.  If  I  had  cut  up  the  caper  he  has  I'd  have 
stayed  away,  but  he's  back  for  his  folks  to  support  him 
some  more.  He  didn't  even  have  gumption  enough  to  beg 
vittles." 

"Well,  this  town  has  had  a  hearty  meal,  and  all  is  I  hope 
it  won't  feel  hungry  for  celebrations  till  it's  time  for  the 
next  centennial,"  observed  the  Cap'n.  "There's  one  thing 
about  this  affair  that  I'm  goin'  to  praise — it  was  hearty  and 
satisfyin'.  It  has  dulled  the  celebratin'  appetite  in  this  town 
for  some  time."  He  went  into  town  office. 

The  constable  followed  and  laid  a  paper  before  him.  It 
was  a  petition  of  citizens  for  a  special  town-meeting;  and 
there  being  a  sufficient  number  of  names  on  the  paper,  it  be 
came  a  matter  of  duty  for  Cap'n  Sproul  to  call  the  meeting 
prayed  for. 

He  quietly  proceeded  to  draw  up  the  necessary  notice. 
Nute  evidently  expected  that  the  Cap'n  would  promptly  un 
derstand  the  meaning  of  the  proposed  meeting  and  would 
burst  into  violent  speech.  But  the  selectman  hummed  an 
old  sea  chanty  while  he  hunted  for  a  blank,  and  smiled  as  he 
penned  the  document. 

406 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"Committee  has  been  to  Squire  Alcander  Reeves  to  get 
some  law  on  the  thing,"  proceeded  Nute,  disappointed  by 
this  lack  of  interest  in  affairs.  "Reeves  says  that  since  the 
show  was  advertised  as  a  town  shindig  the  town  has  got  to 
stand  behind  and  fid  up  for  the  money  that's  shy.  Says  it 
ain't  supposed  to  fall  on  the  committees  to  pay  for  what  the 
town's  beholden  for." 

"Let  'em  go  ahead  and  settle  it  to  suit  all  hands,"  re 
marked  the  first  selectman,  amiably.  "As  the  feller  used 
to  sing  in  the  dog-watch: 

"  '  Says  Jonah,  addressin'  the  whale,  "  I  wish 
You'd  please  take  notice  that  I  like  fish." 
Says  the  whale  to  Jonah,  "  It's  plain  to  see 
That  you  are  goin'  to  agree  with  me."'" 

A  considerable  gathering  of  the  taxpayers  of  Smyrna  had 
been  waiting  on  the  platform  of  Odbar  Broadway's  store 
for  the  first  selectman  to  appear  and  open  the  town  office. 
Hiram  Look  had  marshalled  them  there.  Now  he  led  them 
across  the  square  and  they  filed  into  the  office. 

The  Cap'n  did  not  look  up  until  he  had  finished  his  work 
on  the  notice.  He  handed  the  paper  to  Nute  with  orders 
to  post  it  after  the  signatures  of  the  two  associate  selectmen 
had  been  secured. 

Then  to  his  surprise  Hiram  Look  received  an  extremely 
benignant  smile  from  the  Cap'n. 

"You  ain't  objectin'  any  to  the  special  town  -  meetin', 
then  ?"  inquired  Hiram,  losing  some  of  his  apprehensiveness. 

"I'm  callin'  it  as  quick  as  the  law  will  let  me — and  happy 
to  do  so,"  graciously  returned  the  first  selectman. 

Hiram  took  off  his  tall  hat  with  the  air  of  one  who  has 
been  invited  to  remain,  after  anticipating  violent  rebuff. 

407 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"You  know,  don't  you,  what  the  voters  want  this  special 

•     >     r        s» 

meetin    tor  r 

"Sartin  sure,"  cried  the  Cap'n.  "Got  to  have  money  to 
square  up  bills  and  take  the  cuss  ofF'm  this  town  of  welchin' 
on  a  straight  proposition  to  outsiders  who  came  down  here 
all  in  good  faith  after  prizes." 

"Exactly,"  cried  Hiram,  glowing.  "Didn't  I  always  tell 
you,  boys,  that  though  Cap'n  Aaron  Sproul  might  be  a  little 
gruff  and  a  bit  short,  sea-capt'in  fashion,  he  was  all  right 
underneath  ?" 

There  was  a  mumble  of  assent. 

"There  ain't  a  first  selectman  in  this  State  that  has  shown 
any  more  science  in  handlin'  his  job  than  Cap'n  Aaron 
Sproul  of  this  town." 

"When  you  come  to  remember  back  how  he's  grabbed  in 
and  taken  the  brunt  every  time  there's  been  anything  that 
needed  to  be  handled  proper,  you've  got  to  admit  all  what 
you've  said,  Mr.  Look,"  assented  another  of  the  party. 

"We  know  now  that  it  was  by  Tate  forgin'  your  name 
and  runnin'  things  underhanded  that  the  town  got  into  the 
scrape  it  did,"  Hiram  went  on.  "Them  bills  had  to  be 
paid  to  keep  outsiders  slingin'  slurs  at  us.  You  done  just 
right.  The  town  will  have  to  meet  and  vote  more  money 
to  pay  the  rest  of  the  bills.  But  probably  it  won't  come  as 
hard  as  we  think.  What  I  was  goin'  to  ask  you,  Cap'n 
Sproul,  was  whether  there  ain't  an  overplus  in  some  depart 
ments  ?  We  can  use  that  money  so  far's  it  '11  go." 

"Pauper  department  has  something  extry,"  stated  the 
first  selectman,  dryly.  "I  was  thinkin'  of  buyin'  a  new 
furnace  for  the  poor-farm,  but  we  can  let  the  paupers  shiver 
through  another  winter  so's  to  pay  them  squirtin'  prizes  to 
the  firemen." 

408 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

"We  don't  want  to  do  anything  that  ain't  just  accordin' 
to  Hoyle,"  said  Hiram,  flushing  a  little,  for  he  sensed  the 
satire.  "We'll  meet  and  vote  the  money  and  then  we  can 
sit  back  and  take  comfort  in  thinkin'  that  there's  just  the 
right  man  at  the  head  of  town  affairs  to  economize  us  back 
onto  Easy  Street."  He  was  eager  to  flatter.  "This  town 
understands  what  kind  of  a  man  it  wants  to  keep  in  office. 
I  take  back  all  I  ever  said  about  opposin'  you,  Cap'n." 

"And  that's  the  general  sentiment  of  the  town,"  affirmed 
Odbar  Broadway. 

The  face  of  the  first  selectman  did  not  indicate  that  he 
was  especially  gratified. 

"That  is  to  say,"  he  inquired  grimly,  "after  I've  fussed, 
figured,  and  struggled  for  most  of  two  years  to  save  money 
and  pay  off  the  debts  of  this  town  and  have  had  the  cash 
yanked  away  from  me  like  honey  out  of  a  hive,  I'm  supposed 
to  start  in  all  over  again  and  do  a  similar  job  for  this  town 
on  a  salary  of  sixty  dollars  a  year  ?" 

"We  don't  feel  you  ought  to  put  it  just  that  way,"  objected 
Hiram. 

"That's  the  way  it  suits  me  to  put  it.  You  can  do  it  to 
me  once — you  have  done  it — but  this  is  where  this  partickler 
little  busy  bee  stops  makin'  honey  for  the  town  of  Smyrna 
to  lap  up  at  one  mouthful.  That  special  town-meetin'  comes 
along  all  handy  for  me.  You  notice  I  ain't  objectin'  to 
havin'  it  held." 

Constable  Nute,  who  had  been  looking  puzzled  ever  since 
the  selectman  had  signed  the  call  for  the  meeting,  perked 
up  with  the  interest  of  one  who  is  about  to  hear  a  mystery 
explained. 

"For,"  the  Cap'n  went  on,  "I  was  goin'  to  call  one  on 
my  own  hook  so  that  I  can  resign  this  office.  I  serve  notice 

409 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

on  you  now  that  when  this  town  touches  dock  at  that 
meetin'  I  step  ashore  with  my  little  dunnage  bag  on  my 
back." 

"The  town  won't  let  you  do  it,"  blazed  Hiram. 

"I  was  shanghaied  aboard.  You  want  to  be  careful,  all 
of  ye,  how  you  gather  at  the  gangway  when  I  start  to  walk 
ashore!  It's  fair  warnin'.  Take  heed  of  it!" 

There  was  an  expression  on  his  weather-worn  countenance 
that  checked  further  expostulation.  Hiram  angrily  led 
them  out  after  a  few  muttered  expletives. 

"I've  heard  of  contrary  tantryboguses  in  my  time,"  stated 
Broadway  when  they  were  back  at  his  store,  "but  that  feller 
over  there  has  got  all  of  'em  backed  into  the  stall.  This 
town  better  wake  up.  We've  let  ourselves  be  bossed  around 
by  him  as  though  Smyrna  was  rigged  out  with  masts  and 
sails  and  he  was  boss  of  the  quarter-deck.  Give  me  a  first 
selectman  that  has  got  less  brustles." 

It  was  the  first  word  of  a  general  revolt.  It  is  the  nature 
of  man  to  pretend  that  he  does  not  desire  what  he  cannot 
get.  The  voters  of  Smyrna  took  that  attitude. 

On  the  eve  of  the  projected  town-meeting  Hiram  Look 
strolled  over  to  call  on  his  friend  Sproul.  The  latter  had 
been  close  at  home  for  days,  informing  his  loyal  wife  that 
for  the  first  time  since  he  had  settled  ashore  he  was  beginning 
to  appreciate  what  peace  and  quiet  meant. 

"I  don't  know  how  it  happened,"  he  informed  Hiram, 
"how  I  ever  let  myself  be  pull-hauled  as  much  as  I've  been. 
Why,  I  haven't  had  time  allowed  me  to  stop  and  consider 
what  a  fool  and  lackey  I  was  lettin'  'em  make  of  me.  When 
I  left  the  sea  I  came  ashore  with  a  hankerin'  for  rest, 
comfort,  and  garden  sass  of  my  own  raisin',  and  I've  been 
beatin'  into  a  head  wind  of  hoorah-ste-boy  ever  since. 

410 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

From  now  on  I'll  show  you  a  man  that's  settled  down  to 
enjoy  life!" 

"That's  the  right  way  for  you  to  feel,"  affirmed  Hiram. 
"You  take  a  man  that  holds  office  and  the  tide  turns  against 
him  after  a  while.  It's  turned  against  you  pretty  sharp." 

"Don't  see  how  you  figger  that,"  returned  the  Cap'n  with 
complacency.  "I'm  gettin'  out  just  the  right  time.  Time 
to  leave  is  when  they're  coaxin'  you  to  stay.  If  I'd  stayed  in 
till  they  got  to  growlin'  around  and  wantin'  to  put  me  out 
I'd  have  to  walk  up  and  down  in  this  town  like  Gid  Ward 
does  now — meechin'  as  a  scalt  pup.  That's  why  I'm  takin' 
so  much  personal  satisfaction  in  gettin'  out — they  want  to 
keep  me  in." 

"You  ought  to  travel  out  around  this  town  a  little,"  re 
turned  his  friend,  grimly.  "The  way  they're  talkin'  now 
you'd  think  they  was  goin'  to  have  bonfires  and  a  celebration 
when  they  get  rid  of  you.  Hate  to  hurt  your  feelin's,  but 
I'm  only  reportin'  facts,  and  just  as  they're  talkin'  it.  Bein' 
a  friend  I  can  say  it  to  your  face." 

The  expression  of  bland  pride  faded  out  of  Cap'n  Sproul's 
face.  For  a  moment  he  seemed  inclined  to  doubt  Hiram's 
word  in  violent  terms.  A  few  words  did  slip  out. 

The  old  showman  interrupted  him. 

"Go  out  and  sound  the  pulse  for  yourself.  I  never  lied 
to  you  yet.  You've  cuffed  the  people  around  pretty  hard, 
you'll  have  to  admit  that.  Take  a  feller  in  politics  that  un 
dertakes  to  boss  too  much,  and  when  the  voters  do  turn  on 
him  they  turn  hard.  They've  done  it  to  you.  They're  glad 
you're  goin'  out.  You  couldn't  be  elected  hog-reeve  in 
Smyrna  to-day." 

The  Cap'n  glared  at  him,  voiceless  for  the  moment. 

"I  know  it  hurts,  but  I'm  tellin'  you  the  truth,"  Hiram 

411 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

went  on,  remorselessly.  "If  they  don't  stand  up  and  give 
three  cheers  in  town-meetin'  to-morrow  when  you  hand  in 
your  resignation  I'll  be  much  surprised." 

"Who's  been  lyin'  about  me  ?"  demanded  the  first  se 
lectman. 

"  It  ain't  that  way  at  all!  Seems  like  the  town  sort  of  woke 
up  all  of  a  sudden  and  realized  it  didn't  like  your  style  of 
managin'.  The  way  you  acted  when  the  delegation  came  to 
you  put  on  the  finishin'  touch.  Now,  Aaron,  you  don't  have 
to  take  my  word  for  this.  Prob'ly  it  doesn't  interest  you — 
but  you  can  trot  around  and  find  out  for  yourself,  if  it  does." 

The  first  selectman,  his  eyes  gleaming,  the  horn  of  gray 
hair  that  he  twisted  in  moments  of  mental  stress  standing 
straight  up,  rose  and  reached  for  his  hat. 

"Mutiny  on  me,  will  they  ?"  he  growled.  "We'll  jest  see 
about  that!" 

"Where  are  you  goin',  Aaron  ?"  asked  the  placid  Louada 
Murilla,  troubled  by  his  ireful  demeanor. 

"I'm  goin'  to  find  out  if  this  jeebasted  town  is  goin'  to 
kick  me  out  of  office!  They'll  discover  they  haven't  got  any 
Kunnel  Gid  Ward  to  deal  with!" 

"  But  you  said  you  were  out  of  politics,  Aaron!"  Dismay 
and  grief  were  in  her  tones.  "I  want  you  for  myself,  hus 
band.  You  promised  me.  I  don't  want  you  to  go  back  into 
politics." 

"I  hain't  ever  been  out  of  politics  yet,"  he  retorted. 
"And  if  there  are  any  men  in  this  town  that  think  I'm  down 
and  out  they'll  have  another  guess  comin'." 

He  marched  out  of  the  house,  leaving  his  visiting  friend 
in  most  cavalier  fashion. 

Hiram  stared  after  him,  meditatively  stroking  his  long 
mustache. 

412 


THE    SKIPPER    AND    THE    SKIPPED 

"Mis'  Sproul,"  he  said  at  last,  "you  take  muddy  roads, 
wet  grounds,  balky  animils,  fool  rubes,  drunken  performers, 
and  the  high  price  of  lemons,  and  the  circus  business  is  some 
raspy  on  the  general  disposition.  But  since  I've  known 
your  husband  I've  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it's  an  angel- 
maker  compared  with  goin'  to  sea." 

"You  had  no  business  tellin'  him  what  you  did,"  com 
plained  the  wife.  "You  ought  to  understand  his  disposition 
by  this  time." 

"I  ought  to,  but  I  see  I  don't,"  acknowledged  the  friend. 
He  scrubbed  his  plug  hat  against  his  elbow  and  started  for 
the  door.  "I'd  been  thinkin'  that  if  ever  I'd  run  up  against 
a  man  that  really  wanted  to  shuck  office  that  man  was  your 
husband.  I  reckoned  he  really  knew  what  he  wanted  part 
of  the  time." 

"Can't  you  go  after  him  and  make  him  change  his  mind 
back  ?"  she  pleaded. 

"The  voters  of  this  town  will  attend  to  that.  I  was  tellin' 
him  the  straight  truth.  If  he  don't  get  it  passed  to  him  hot 
off  the  bat  when  he  tackles  'em,  then  I'm  a  sucker.  You 
needn't  worry,  marm.  He'll  have  plenty  of  time  to  'tend 
to  his  garden  sass  this  summer." 

It  was  midnight  when  Cap'n  Sproul  returned  to  an 
anxious  and  waiting  wife.  He  was  flushed  and  hot  and 
hoarse,  but  the  gleam  in  his  eye  was  no  longer  that  of  of 
fended  pride  and  ireful  resolve.  There  was  triumph  in  his 
glance. 

"If  there's  a  bunch  of  yaller  dogs  think  they  can  put  me 
out  of  office  in  this  town  they'll  find  they're  tryin'  to  gnaw 
the  wrong  bone,"  he  declared  hotly. 

"But  you  had  told  them  you  wouldn't  take  the  office — 
you  insisted  that  you  were  going  to  resign — you  said — " 

413 


THE    SKIPPER    AND    THE    SKIPPED 

"It  didn't  make  any  diff'runce  what  I  said — when  I  said 
it  things  was  headed  into  the  wind  and  all  sails  was  drawin' 
and  I  was  on  my  course.  But  you  let  some  one  try  to  plunk 
acrost  my  bows  when  I'm  on  the  starboard  tack,  and  have 
got  right  of  way,  well,  more  or  less  tophamper  is  goin'  to  be 
carried  away — and  it  won't  be  mine." 

"What  have  you  done,  Aaron  ?"  she  inquired  with  timor 
ous  solicitude. 

"Canvassed  this  town  from  one  end  to  the  other  and  by 
moral  suasion,  the  riot  act,  and  a  few  other  things  I've  got 
pledges  from  three-quarters  of  the  voters  that  when  I  pass 
in  my  resignation  to-morrow  they'll  vote  that  they  won't  ac 
cept  it  and  will  ask  me  to  keep  on  in  office  for  the  good  of 
Smyrna.  This  town  won't  get  a  chance  to  yoke  me  up  with 
your  brother  Gid  and  point  us  out  as  a  steer  team  named 
'Down  and  Out!'  He's  'Down'  but  I  ain't  'Out'  yet,  not 
by  a  dam — excuse  me,  Louada  Murilla!  But  I've  been 
mixin'  into  politics  and  talkin'  political  talk." 

"And  I  had  so  hoped  you  were  out  of  it,"  she  sighed,  as 
she  followed  him  to  their  repose. 

She  watched  him  make  ready  and  depart  for  town  hall 
the  next  morning  without  comment,  but  the  wistful  look  in 
her  eyes  spoke  volumes.  Cap'n  Sproul  was  silent  with  the 
air  of  a  man  with  big  events  fronting  him. 

She  watched  the  teams  jog  along  the  highway  toward  the 
village.  She  saw  them  returning  in  dusty  procession  later 
in  the  forenoon — signal  that  the  meeting  was  over  and  the 
voters  were  returning  to  their  homes. 

In  order  to  beguile  the  monotony  of  waiting  she  hunted  up 
the  blank-book  in  which  she  had  begun  to  write  "The  Life 
Story  of  Gallant  Captain  Aaron  Sproul."  She  read  the  brief 
notes  that  she  had  been  able  to  collect  from  him  and  reflected 

414 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

with  bitterness  that  there  was  little  hope  of  securing  much 
more  data  from  a  man  tied  up  with  the  public  affairs  of  a 
town  which  exacted  so  much  from  its  first  selectman. 

Upon  her  musings  entered  Cap'n  Sproul,  radiant,  serene. 
He  bent  and  kissed  her  after  the  fashion  of  the  days  of  the 
honeymoon. 

"Whew!"  he  whistled,  sitting  down  in  a  porch  chair  and 
gazing  off  across  the  blue  hills.  "It's  good  to  get  out  of  that 
steam  and  stew  down  in  that  hall.  I  say,  Louada  Murilla, 
there  ain't  in  this  whole  world  a  much  prettier  view  than 
that  off  acrost  them  hills.  It's  a  good  picture  for  a  man  to 
spend  his  last  days  lookin'  at." 

"I'm  afraid  you  aren't  going  to  get  much  time  to  look  at 
it,  husband."  She  fondled  her  little  book  and  there  was  a 
bit  of  pathos  in  her  voice. 

"Got  all  the  time  there  is!" 

There  was  a  buoyancy  in  his  tones  that  attracted  her 
wondering  attention. 

"They  wouldn't  accept  that  resignation,"  he  said  with 
great  satisfaction.  "It  was  unanimous.  Them  yaller  dogs 
never  showed  themselves.  Yes,  s'r,  unanimous,  and  a  good 
round  howl  of  a  hurrah  at  that!  Ought  to  have  been  there 
and  seen  the  expression  on  Hiram's  face!  I  reckon  I've 
shown  him  a  few  things  in  politics  that  will  last  him  for  an 
object-lesson." 

"  I  suppose  they'll  want  to  keep  you  in  for  life,  now,"  she 
said  with  patient  resignation.  "And  I  had  so  hoped — 

She  did  not  finish.  He  looked  at  her  quizzically  for  a 
little  while  and  her  expression  touched  him. 

"  I  was  intendin'  to  string  the  agony  out  and  keep  you  on 
tenter-hooks  a  little  spell,  Louada  Murilla,"  he  went  on. 
"But  I  hain't  got  the  heart  to  do  it.  All  is,  they  wouldn't 

415 


THE  SKIPPER  AND  THE  SKIPPED 

accept  that  resignation,  just  as  I've  told  you.  It  makes  a 
man  feel  pretty  good  to  be  as  popular  as  that  in  his  own  town. 
Of  course  it  wasn't  all  love  and  abidin'  affection — I  had  to 
go  out  last  night  and  temper  it  up  with  politics  a  little — but 
you've  got  to  take  things  in  this  world  just  as  they're  handed 
to  you.  I  stood  up  and  made  a  speech  and  I  thanked  'em — 
and  it  was  a  pretty  good  speech." 

He  paused  and  narrowed  his  eyes  and  dwelt  fondly  for  a 
moment  on  the  memory  of  the  triumph. 

"But  when  you're  popular  in  a  town  and  propose  to  spend 
your  last  days  in  that  town  and  want  to  stay  popular  and 
happy  and  contented  there's  nothin'  like  clinchin'  the  thing. 
So  here's  what  I  done  there  and  then,  Louada  Murilla:  I 
praised  up  the  voters  of  Smyrna  as  bein'  the  best  people  on 
earth  and  then  I  told  'em  that,  havin'  an  interest  in  the  old 
town  and  wantin'  to  see  her  sail  on  full  and  by  and  all  muslin 
drawin'  and  no  barnacles  of  debt  on  the  bottom,  I'd  donate 
out  of  my  pocket  enough  to  pay  up  all  them  prizes  and 
purses  contracted  for  in  the  celebration — and  then  I  resigned 
again  as  first  selectman.  And  I  made  'em  understand  that 
I  meant  it,  too!" 

"Did  they  let  you  resign?"  she  gasped. 

"Sure — after  a  tussle!  But  you  see  I'd  made  myself  so 
popular  by  that  time  that  they'd  do  anything  I  told  'em  to 
do,  even  to  lettin'  me  resign!  And  there's  goin'  to  be  a 
serenade  to  me  to-night,  Hiram  Look's  fife  and  drum  corps 
and  the  Smyrna  Ancients  leadin'  the  parade.  Last  thing  I 
done  down-town  was  order  the  treat." 

He  nested  his  head  in  his  interlocked  fingers  and  leaned 
back. 

"Louada  Murilla,  you  and  me  is  goin'  to  take  solid  com 
fort  from  now  on — and  there's  nothin'  like  bein'  popular  in 

416 


THE    SKIPPER    AND    THE    SKIPPED 

the  place  where  you  live."     He  glanced  sideways  at  the  little 
blank-book. 

"We've  been  kind  of  neglectin'  that,  hain't  we,  wife? 
But  we're  goin'  to  have  a  good,  long,  cozy,  chatty  time  to 
gether  now!  Make  a  note  of  this:  One  time  when  I  was 
eleven  days  out  from  Boston  with  a  cargo  of  woodenware 
bound  to  Australia,  we  run  acrost  a — " 


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